Through Darkest Zymurgia!

Glastonbury University is filled with blessed peace for three months of each year, three months usually known as the summer hiatus. The students, whether industrious or indolent, disperse to their homes after Spring Exams and are not seen in quadrangle or classroom until the first lecture of Fall, at the very earliest. Summer hiatus is therefore a sterling opportunity for weary academics to rest, relax, and pursue their scholarly interests--elsewhere.

For many years, my colleague Thomas Carbuncle and I have had the pleasant habit of travelling together during the months of the hiatus. Our journeys have been a fruitful source of raw material for our scholarly papers in mythogeography and applied phantastics, respectively, as well as for less formal but more lucrative accounts such as this one. As 680 began, and winter grew into spring, Carbuncle and I were therefore deeply involved in planning our summer outing.

On the afternoon I have in mind, Carbuncle and I had cancelled our afternoon lectures and were seated before the fire in his University lodgings, sipping sherry. Drizzle shrouded the quadrangle outside Carbuncle's window (the statue of "Woody" Grenville was barely visible through the mist), and we congratulated ourselves on escaping the clammy interiors of Sambridge and Nortingon Halls.

We were in deep contention over our destination. I favored the south shore of the Lyricum Peninsula, while Carbuncle preferred the mountain lakes of High Bastille. A compromise was visible in the distance, perhaps a glass of sherry or so away, when the speaking orb whistled. Carbuncle hastened to answer it. I sipped placidly until his return.

"Leon, have you ever heard of a Dr. Thaddeus Philpott? Apparently he's in the vestibule and would like to come up and see us."

"Never have I heard the name," I said, "does he claim acquaintance?" Carbuncle returned to the orb, and after a muttered discussion with the porter said, "Only with our work. He seems quite complimentary."

"Then bring him on, Thomas, bring him on," I said, for the sherry and the fire had put me in an expansive mood.

The porter knocked gently a few moments later, and Dr. Philpott entered; he was a tall, tweedy, sort of fellow, with spectacles. Carbuncle got him a sherry, and I showed him to a fine chair by the fire, indicating the plate of biscuits. He thanked us most graciously, and when all were settled comfortably, Carbuncle asked, "And so, Dr. Philpott, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Why, any scholar, such as myself, could not help but wish to meet the famed Thintwhistle and Carbuncle!" I glanced quizzically at Carbuncle. This was not an attitude widely shared by the faculty at Glastonbury, nor, perhaps, by the students. "I am on sabbatical, visiting Glastonbury University, and I wished to acquaint myself with you as soon as possible. The things you have done for the study of ethnomonotony are simply indescribable." Philpott beamed at us.

"Ethnomonotony, you say?" I frowned slightly. "I fail to see the connection."

"Ah, but the ethnomonotonist's work begins where the mythogeographer's ends. Without men such as yourself exploring faroff countries and bringing them into the realm of the day-to-day, ethnomonotony would soon become a dull field. We would be reduced to writing footnotes, and squabbling over trivialities. Thanks to you, however, there are ever new fields of endeavour." I lifted my glass to him, and Carbuncle hastened to refill it.

"As for phantastics," Philpott continued, "classification of a country's phantasmagoria is one of the ethnomonotonist's primary tasks--an easy one where men such as you have passed, Mr. Carbuncle." Carbuncle smiled, and wagged his head. Like many phantasticists, he is more comfortable with phantasms than with people, and compliments embarrass him. "I still remember your analysis of the phantasmagoria needed to build the monuments and temples of Seros. Superb!" I raised my eyebrows, and he hastened to add, "Assuming, of course, that they ever were built, as such, Dr. Thintwhistle. I'm well aware that this is still a matter of some controversy among mythogeographers." I nodded, pleased.

"It's very kind of you to say these things, Dr. Philpott," I said, "and I am glad to make your acquaintance." At this, Carbuncle nodded. "Is there anything I or Carbuncle can do to make your stay at Glastonbury more pleasant?"

His eyes shone (or perhaps it was the fire on his spectacles), and then he looked down for a moment. He hesitated, and then said, "Summer is fast approaching, Dr. Thintwhistle, and I will have no teaching duties until fall. I understand that it is your custom to undertake an expedition each summer, and I have greatly hoped that I might be permitted to come along. I have a tidy income, and would be glad to contribute to the costs."

"What a capital idea," I said, filled with a glow of warmth for humanity, "simply capital. Why, Carbuncle and I were just discussing our plans when you arrived. We'd be glad to hear your views."

"And where are you planning to go this year?" he asked, moving to the edge of his overstuffed chair. "Seros? Anselms? Or perhaps the long overdue return to Zymurgia?"

"Actually, we were contemplating staying closer to home this year," I said. "I'm in favor of the Lyricum Peninsula, but Carbuncle's plumping for High Bastille."

"Lyricum?" said Philpott, owlish in his surprise. "I'd have thought that Lyricum would have little to offer a mythogeographer by this time."

"You'd be surprised," I said. "There must be hundreds of streets and avenues--"

"--and taverns and inns--," interrupted Carbuncle.

"Yes, and taverns and inns we have not yet explored. As a scientist, it is my duty to leave no corner unturned! And in addition, the Grand Opera of Lyricum is performing the entire Rigatoni cycle this year. It's an event not to be missed."

"Ah, I see," said Philpott, who plainly didn't. "And High Bastille? No one lives there but sheep and rockhounds. What possible interest can it have to a phantasticist?"

"Sheep, and rockhounds, yes," relied Carbuncle, "but you've forgotten the snapping trout. If you don't consider angling for snapping trout with nothing but a few yards of thin line, some colored thread, and a barbed hook to be an exercise in applied phantastics, I'm afraid you don't truly understand the subject."

"Oh, yes, of course, I see your point," said Philpott.

"We were approaching a compromise when you arrived," I said. "If we were to spend just the first six weeks of the hiatus in High Bastille, we could reach Lyricum Town in time for the perfomance of Rotini's masterpiece, La Profiterole. I'm told it's sure to be delightful."

"What's your view, Dr. Philpott?" asked Carbuncle. "Perhaps you'd rather spend the whole summer exploring the brooks and troutstreams of High Bastille?"

"On the other hand, the sublime pleasures of Lyricum's south shore in the month of Melee are not to be discounted," I said.

"I regret to say that neither is what I had expected," he said, downcast. "Are you sure Zymurgia is out of the question? Even a trip to Seros would hold great interest."

"I am afraid not, Dr. Philpott. I am no longer as young as I once was, and I fear my taste for adventure has decreased. You are still quite welcome to join us, however."

Shortly after this, Philpott glanced at the artifical sun dial on the mantel, and, exclaiming at the time, left us, pleading a dinner engagement. "A pity," said Carbuncle, "A likeable fellow, I thought, if imperfectly well acquainted with phantastics."

"But quite sound on MG," I said. "And the extra funds would have been useful."

I thought no more of Philpott until the next morning, when I received a summons to see the Dean of Faculty at his earliest possible convenience. Entering the Dean's antechamber, I was surprised to see that Carbuncle had preceded me. "Old Nufty sent for you, too, eh?" I said, ignoring the secretary's disapproving glance. "I wonder what's in the wind?" Carbuncle shrugged as the secretary said, "Dr. Nuftison will see you now."

Nufty scowled at us as we entered his dark-panelled sanctum. The dean is a large man, and his desk, chair, and office were built to a similar scale. The effect was calculated to convert any casual visitor into a cringing supplicant in a few seconds.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I am shocked to discover that you have been neglecting your teaching duties for the sake of planning a pleasure trip."

"Pleasure trip? What nonsense is this, Eddie?" (He hates to be called Eddie.)

"This nonsense of Lyricum and High Bastille!"

"Nonsense?" I exclaimed. "There remains much to be done in Lyricum. Why, there must be hundreds of streets and avenues--"

"And taverns and inns--" interrupted Carbuncle, and Nufty and I both stopped to glare at him.

"As for High Bastille," I said, "the scope for phantastics experiments is simply amazing." I eased Carbuncle off of my foot as I continued, "I'm afraid that anyone who doesn't consider angling for snapping trout with nothing but a few yards of thin line, some colored thread, and a barbed hook to be an exercise in applied phantastics, doesn't truly understand the subject." Nufty and Carbuncle both glared at me, and too late I remembered that, prior to his exaltation, Old Nufty had been head of the Theoretical Phantastics department.

"It surely would be amazing to one as ignorant as I, Dr. Thintwhistle. I would gladly be enlightened. And yet I have seen no papers on the topic from Mr. Carbuncle, nor any from you on the mythogeography of Lyricum."

"Well, of course not, Eddie, our research is hardly complete!"

"But didn't the two of you visit Lyricum and High Bastille last summer?" I admitted we had.

"And wasn't it Lyricum and High Bastille the year before that?"

"Actually, it was High Bastille and Lyricum that year," said Carbuncle, helpfully.

"And didn't you write your seminal papers on Anselms and Seros after a mere three months of investigation?"

"Oh, indeed we did, Eddie, indeed we did. But Lyricum is a much older, more complex, more settled place than Anselms or Seros, you know. Why, there must be hundreds of streets--"

"Hundreds of streets which perhaps are adequately explored each year by hundreds of Anglish visitors?" Nufty raised an eyebrow.

"Rank amateurs, Eddie, rank amateurs." I scoffed in derision.

"And wasn't the annual meeting of the Royal Mythogeographic Society held in Lyricum last spring, thus giving ample opportunity to seasoned professionals?" Having no useful response, I held my peace.

"I am forced to conclude, Gentlemen," he said, glaring at each of us in turn, "that you have been planning yet another pleasure trip at the expense of your duties. This is unacceptable. Tenure was designed to protect freedom of thought, gentlemen, not freedom from work. Push it too far, and you will see how far it stretches."

This was very bad. An academic of my standing, being threatened with loss of tenure! I asked Nufty what he proposed.

"I am sure you have completed sufficient research on Lyricum and High Bastille for your preliminary findings, at least, to be of interest. Consequently, I feel you should remain here at the university during the hiatus, and get them into shape for publication this fall." Carbuncle and I looked at each other. This was worse than I had feared. Summer in University! But Nufty continued.

"Of course, I would be willing to see these papers postponed if you were to undertake a more serious expedition this summer...to Zymurgia, perhaps. I had the pleasure of dining with the youngest son of the Earl of Luton yesterday evening; he expressed great interest in such an undertaking. I gather his father would foot the bill. Under such circumstances, the papers describing your Lyrican and Bastillian investigations might be postponed indefinitely." The dean smiled at us sardonically.

"This earling of yours," I hazarded, "Would he happen to rejoice in the name of Thaddeus Philpott?"

"Indeed, young Thaddeus told me he had made your acquaintance yesterday afternoon. His father is an old school friend of mine, and would be very grateful to the University if you could bring Thaddeus along. I am sure you understand."

When threatened in one meeting with loss of tenure and the dark necessities of university finance, it is wise to capitulate graciously. "I have, of course, been longing to return to Zymurgia," I said. "I know Carbuncle feels the same." Carbuncle nodded on cue. "We would have returned sooner, but for the difficulty and expense of putting together a first rate expedition."

"I am sure that funds will be no constraint," said Nufty. "I am so glad we were able to come to an understanding." He cocked a warning eye as we rose and slipped towards the door. "Well, don't let me keep you any longer, as I know you have afternoon lectures to prepare for."

And so it was that on the Fifteenth of Scone our belongings, our supplies, and ourselves, with Philpott in tow, were assembled on the wharf at Pelham Pond, ready to embark on a voyage to darkest Zymurgia.