Through Darkest Zymurgia!

Moments later I was at the rail, gazing over the reeds and fields to the trailhead at the base of the cliff, looking for the telltale cloud of dust. No trader in bulky goods like beer travels without beasts of burden, and the signs of their coming are clear from great distances. To my surprise I saw nothing. I looked at Cadbury carefully, searching his laughing face. "Where?" I finally said. "Surely he hasn't reached the village already?"

"You look in the wrong place, effendi. Look to the left: beside the waterfall."

It took me several minutes to realize what I was seeing. At last I went up to the bridge, and begged the use of the captain's spyglass. A few moments further study clarified it beyond all doubt-- fortunately, for at that time the captain snatched the spyglass back from me to see for himself.

A kind of wooden platform was being lowered from the top of the cliff by means of a cable. Several figures were plainly to be seen atop the platform, which had an odd, lumpy look to the edges.

"But they are lowering it into the lake," I said in surprise.

"What else, effendi?" asked Cadbury. "How easier to get the kegs to market than by floating them down the river?" Cadbury was greatly pleased with himself.

"And how easier to get to the top of the cliff than by riding up with the trader on that contraption...is that the game, Cadbury?" He merely bowed and grinned.

"Ride up in that?" asked Captain Halvorsen. "I'd hate to even set foot on it. It's all kegs!"

And so it was. By noon, and without catastrophe, the ungainly contraption had been lowered into the water at the cliff's edge. Two of the figures on board were paddling it towards the stretch of shore kept clear of reeds by the villagers; a third sat at his ease on a raised platform in the middle of the raft. I assumed he was the one in charge. The paddlers seemed most surprised and entranced by the Sea-Spaniel, waving and gesturing at it and each other, and evidently laughing a great deal; we could hear their hoots and guffaws echo dimly from the cliffs. The trader remained silent and still, except for occasional dire glances at the others.

"Come," said Cadbury at last. "We must be ready when the trader arrives. I must ask you, my friend, not to speak with him until after the feast. No trading will be done until tomorrow morning."

Before the makeshift barge reached the halfway point, the bank was occupied by (apparently) the entire population of the village, a rowdy group of sailors, and three Anglish academics.

I cut Baxter out of the crowd--not a difficult task, as he was trying his best not to appear a part of it. "Baxter, I imagine you'll be trying to get a few kegs for the ship?"

"The captain sent me out to see what I could do, sir."

"I understand no trading will be done until tomorrow; the fellow has to be properly welcomed first. Apparently it would be a great breach of etiquette for us to raise the topic early. Pass the word among the men, will you?"

"The men will be most disappointed, sir," cautioned the steward.

"As am I, Baxter. But if this man can spare me a ride up the cliff trail on a donkey, I for one am willing to wait 24 hours for my beer."

"Very good, sir." I didn't watch him go, having eyes only for the spectacle on the lake, but from the groans behind me, I gathered Baxter was carrying out my orders.

All in all, the barge was an impressive sight. Close to I realized that it was not a raft of loaded kegs, to be disassembled when it reached market, as I had originally thought. It rode too high in the water for that. Large kegs were the basis of it, but it had a well-laid deck and a low rail around three sides. Four stout eyebolts rose from the corners to receive the hoisting cables. Although showing the scars of long use, the exposed surfaces were clean, and bright with paint. These signs of careful maintenance cheered me considerably as I contemplated the journey before me.

The platform upon which the trader was sitting proved to be made up of a square array of smaller kegs, and I gathered that these were the cargo. It was a small load, of between twenty-five and thirty-six kegs.

The trader rose to his feet as the barge glided to the water's edge. He and his helpers were as impressive as their conveyance. Much darker than their Serosan neighbors, they were strongly built, with short, very black hair. The two oarsmen wore short skirts of unbleached linen, and little else. The trader wore the same, with the addition of a cape and hat of some kind of tawny fur. I call it a cape for lack of any more precise term; it covered his shoulders but ended, I would judge, above his shoulderblades. It was held in place by a short chain that passed over his collarbones. A pendant of some kind of shiny metal hung from the center point of the chain. The hat was a squat cylinder perched on the top of his head.

Cadbury had left my side some time before; he was standing at the water's edge, exactly opposite the Zymurgian trader. Both looked remarkably solemn, given the occasion. I noticed Philpott beside me, studying the scene with a kind of hunger.

As well he might, for it was entirely unlike anything I had expected. The two men stood looking at each other for several minutes, as the crowd grew completely silent. I heard one sailor say "What's" quite loudly, but his crewmates stifled him immediately.

Cadbury finally broke the seeming deadlock by bowing very low, almost to the ground. Rising, he shouted something in a language I presumed to be Zymurgian; it seemed to be a greeting of some kind. Then he bowed again.

The trader responded by stepping forward and raising his arms, as if to give the gathered villagers a blessing. He intoned several phrases in a sonorous, rolling chant, dipping his hands at the end of each. His speech was quite impressive, but seemed well-rehearsed, even perfunctory. When he had finished, he stepped back and crossed his arms.

Cadbury bowed once more, and chanted a reply in the same language. Finally he bowed again, and moved to one side, turning so that he faced the path from the shore to the village. As he turned, he waved one arm from the barge to the village, clearly indicating that the trader was welcome. He remained in this position until the trader barked a response and stamped his foot three times on the deck.

At that moment the tableau dissolved. The oarsmen jumped in the water and splashed to the shore, where they were helped out by many eager hands. The trader, grinning widely, jumped over the last few feet of water, and was steadied in his landing by Cadbury and his friends. There was much slapping of backs and much embracing. Apparently the trader and his men were popular visitors.

Philpott stirred at my elbow. "I wonder if the Ophir knows about this," he murmured, eyes wide. "This is simply amazing."

"What are you talking about? The trade in beer? Of course he does. We talked about it with him on our last expedition."

He shook his head slowly, still studying the scene carefully. "No, Leon. Not the beer. The beer is just a detail."

I turned to face him, frowning. "What do you mean, Thad?" I got no answer. At that moment there was a shout, and the whole crowd of people began moving down the road to the village, Cadbury and the trader at their head. The barge was left quite untended. I turned to look for Captain Halvorsen.

"What do you make of this, Dr. Thintwhistle?" he asked as I approached.

"It's fascinating, Captain, that's what I think." I nodded, and then continued, "Captain, I notice that the beer is unguarded. I foresee great difficulty for the expedition if any of it should disappear during the night."

He nodded, no stranger to the sailor's love of alcohol.

"Trading will begin tomorrow," I said. "I am sure we will be able to procure some at that time. In the meantime...I understand that there is to be a feast in the village tonight, to celebrate the trader's arrival. If your men were to bring a suitable addition, I am sure they would be welcome."

"I'm sure the cook can put something together," said the captain. "And the beer will be perfectly safe. The Spaniel isn't one of His Majesty's ships, you know." He grinned. "Every man on board knows that I can replace him in less time than it takes to get drunk." We parted, then, and I followed the crowd down to the village, hoping for a word with Cadbury.

By the time I arrived, Cadbury and the trader had vanished. One of Cadbury's friends saw me looking about, and sauntered over.

"You are too late, Hakim Effendi," he said in Serosan. "The honored trader is taking refreshment with the elders of the village, and will not come out until the feast begins. Cadbury and Thaddeus Effendi are with him." He pronounced the names "Kahdboori" and "Thahdayoos". "Had you arrived earlier, you might have joined them."

"Tell me, my friend," I replied in the same language. "You have met the crew of our ship. Might they be permitted to attend the feast? They are bored with the ship sitting at anchor every day, and they are eager to come." This, I fear, was a piece of unmitigated blackmail. Hospitality is sacred in these villages, and I had left the man no choice.

"Of course, Hakim Effendi, your men may come." He frowned at me slightly.

"Such hospitality deserves recompense before God," I answered with a smile. "My men will bring with them many Anglish delicacies; none will go hungry." He brightened immediately, and I took my leave, well satisfied.

When I reached the shore, I was at first angered to see someone clambering about on the barge; then I reflected that I had not seen my good friend Thomas Carbuncle for some time. Indeed, he had stayed behind to examine the barge and its accoutrements, few as they were. He straightened up as I approached, and walked back to the Spaniel with me.

"No phantasms, Leon. No phantasms at all," he said, shaking his head. "It's an odd thing."

"Why, Thomas? It's just a barge, after all, so it wouldn't have ur-sails. And the phantail is a fairly new development."

"Oh, yes, true enough. But there are none of the little conveniences, either. No lights, for example."

"There are places in Angland that don't yet have phanlights, Thomas," I said. "I still don't see what's so odd."

We had reached the top of the gangplank by this time, and paused there. We leaned on the rail and looked at the belt of the green fields and the desert beyond.

"Well, it's the construction of the barge, Leon. How the boards were shaped and smoothed, and how the kegs were made. So far as I can tell, the makers used no phantasms whatsoever." He stared off into the distance as he said this. I raised my eyebrows, but said nothing. "My experience with such things is limited, and I'd be the first to admit it," he said, "but I think it was all done with mechanical tools of some kind."

I turned my back on the view and leaned, resting my elbows on the top of the rail. "And your conclusion?" I asked.

He turned his head, and asked, "Leon, have you ever heard of a culture with no grasp of phantastics? No phantasms at all?"

I shook my head. "Never," I said. "They might be limited to lighting fires, or heating food, but they always have something."

"That's right," he said. "Neither have I. And since building things of wood is such a common activity, they usually develop phantastic tools for it. I don't see any sign of them here."

"How can you tell?" I asked.

"When you shape wood with an ether-plane, for example, it polishes the surface. The fibers almost melt together, and the grain gets a little blurry. The wood used in that barge is just plain cut wood. It's been competently worked, but the difference is unmistakable."

"Hum, hum, hum," I said. "A culture based on mechanics rather than phantastics...is that what you're suggesting, Thomas?"

"It seems unlikely when you put it like that," he said. "Still, I'll be very interested to see the inside of yon trader's home."

With that we parted, Thomas to his workroom, and I to my deckchair, to nap in preparation for the feast. I judged that it would be a long evening.