Through Darkest Zymurgia!

The feast began shortly before sunset, and lasted well into the night. I arrived early, hoping for a chance to talk with Cadbury or Philpott, but to no avail; as I was warned, they came not forth until the feast began. And even then, I had no chance to approach, as they were escorted to positions of honor on either side of the Zymurgian trader. By Serosan protocol, I could not approach them; they would call for me if they wanted me. I resigned myself to disappointment, and settled down with Carbuncle to enjoy the feast.

The feast was held in the open air, by the light of three large bonfires. The open square in the center of the village was covered with rugs and cushions, that all might take their ease without soiling their finest robes. Low tables were arranged in an open circle, and other nearby tables were covered with platters and bowls. As it was a general celebration, there was no question of being served; everyone served themselves, except for Cadbury, Philpott, and the trader, who were served by the trader's oarsmen.

The food was remarkably good. We enjoyed a large portion of roast goat, and a kind of steamed wheat with raisins, among other treats. For drink, we had fruit juices and sweet coffee; no wine or spirits, of course, and more surprisingly, no beer. In addition, I had...but I get ahead of myself.

The crew of the Sea-Spaniel arrived shortly after the feast began, bearing Anglish delicacies as advertised. The men had enthusiastically followed Carbuncle's example, and caught several more of the enormous trout; one monster was fully five feet long. The ship's cook had somehow found or acquired a great quantity of potatoes. I cannot smell hot oil without remembering that evening. The galley frier was only so large, and so for at least an hour there was a steady stream of Anglish merchant sailors walking to and from the ship, each carrying a steaming basket of Anglish fish and chips.

The oarsmen appropriated the first basket for the guests of honor, naturally, and then the second and third baskets as well, as the initial offering was received with delight. Eventually I caught Hodgins' eye as he carried in his second (or third?) basket. The fish was as good as it was novel. Fish and chips is common in Angland, of course, but it's usually northern cod, which has a distinctly different flavor.

Eventually the flow of sailors dried up, and everyone began to eat and drink in earnest as the entertainment began. The tables were arranged in an open circle, with the diners seated on cushions around the outside of the circle. The inside was well lit by the bonfires and a number of carefully placed torches, and here stood the talebearer and his players. Story-telling is considered a great art in every land influenced by the Azizim, and talebearers are respected men. The stories, told dramatically by the talebearer with sound effects and incidental music provided by his players, were mostly of Seljurk origin. They abounded in magic fountains, enchanted bowers, and hidden gardens, and resonated oddly with the desert so near at hand. There was only one tale of Serosan extraction, that of Toth and the Wealthy Madman.

When the last tale was complete, it was time for dancing. The players moved to the edge of the circle, and struck up a spirited tune. A dozen men gathered together, and executed a complicated dance. It was something like a northern reel, but followed a circular rather than a square pattern. There was much kicking and swaying, with grunts at pivotal moments, and at times the entire ring whirled so quickly that I expected them to fly apart.

The sailors were not to be outdone. One had brought a fife, and another a fiddle, and soon the village men were learning how to dance hornpipes. That lead to other dances, and then to songs like Whiskey Johnny and The Handsome Cabin Boy--and worse. I was grateful that most of the villagers were innocent of any Anglish, and didn't realize what they were singing. Cadbury understood the songs well enough, though, and was translating them for the trader with great relish and occasional clarification from Philpott. Occasionally he turned and leered at me. I groaned, but Carbuncle just chuckled merrily.

It all wound to an end earlier than I had expected, and Carbuncle and I were just leaving, when we received a summons from the head table. We approached cautiously with eyes lowered, as is suitable, and when I lifted them I was relieved to see the trader beaming at me.

"Hakim," he said in heavily accented Serosan, "my friend Thed tells me that it is in my power to do you a great service. Gladly will I do it, for the friendship I have for him. Go now; we will speak after the trading."

Dismissed, we bowed, and retired, and returned to the ship. "'My friend Thed,' eh," I said to Carbuncle as we ambled along.

"At least young Thad hasn't completely forgotten the rest of us," replied Carbuncle.

I had no answer to that, and there was silence until Carbuncle said, "Leon, are you quite sure about bringing this Fox fellow along with us?" This is one of Carbuncle's most endearing traits: he only asks dangerous questions when no one else is about.

"His name's not Fox," I replied. "Do you remember, a few years ago, I was caterwauling for weeks about a promising student who left the University to go into banking?"

"Frederick Fox?"

"Frederick Forsythe. His father's bank is the old Earl's largest creditor."

Carbuncle chewed on this as we neared the lake shore, and eased to a halt just out of earshot of the ship. "Isn't that just one more reason to leave him behind?"

"I'd rather have him where we can see him. We'll have great trouble getting any finds we make off of the Spaniel when we get to Pelham if the ship is seized at the dock. Heavens, we'd have trouble just keeping our journals. Young Frederick, as a representative of the Mercantile Bank of Pelham and Bundyal, should be able to keep the hounds off of our back." Carbuncle nodded. "And besides..." I said.

"You want to force the lad into doing some fieldwork." Carbuncle snorted. "It won't work, Leon. If he had the spark you claim for him, he'd not have left. But I wish you good luck."

The trading began not too early the next morning, though earlier, I reckoned, than it would have had the trader's wares been served the night before. There is that to be said for Azizim customs: one seldom feels ruined on the morning after. On the contrary-- once awakened by the hullabulloo and hubbub on the lake shore, I felt eager, energetic, and surprisingly hungry. Of necessity I put my hunger aside, dressed quickly, and went out.

The barge had been firmly grounded, and on the bank to one side, carpets had been spread over a patch about forty feet by thirty. The trader held court in the center of the carpeted region. It is a grandiose phrase, "held court", but the only one which will do. He was wearing his hat and capelet, and was sitting cross-legged on a cushion. His two men stood beside and slightly behind him.

It was not what I had expected. There was no haggling, nor even any discussion. Villagers came forward one at a time, and stood before the throne. Each carried an offering of some kind: a goatskin without blemish, a sack of grain or dried raisins, a fine garment, and so on. The trader nodded at each, and waved to one side or the other; the supplicant took his offering and left it on the carpet in the indicated spot. Then, dismissed, the villager would betake himself to the barge, remove a keg, and carry it off to the village.

As I watched in fascination, the prodigal returned unnoticed.

"Good morning, Leon. Fascinating, isn't it?" Philpott's face was open, eager as usual, and focussed on the scene before him.

"Yes," I said mildly, stifling my desire to call him to account for his actions of the last twenty-four hours. He had a doctorate, after all, and was a colleague rather than a servant. "I've not seen anything quite like it. There's no bargaining; they bring something, and then take a keg."

"Ahhh," said Philpott. "And sometimes more than one. That fellow there is carting off his third, but he only brought one sack of meal."

"Curiouser and curiouser. Though the trader seems to be doing well out of it."

"Mukden," said Philpott.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mukden," repeated Philpott. "That's the trader's name. The servants are Foudek and Parnas. Only they aren't really servants."

"Aren't they?"

"Mukden's brothers. I gather it was his turn to wear the regalia and theirs to do the brute work."

"You've been busy," I reflected.

"It was necessary," he said. "After that welcoming we saw, I couldn't sleep for the questions buzzing in my head. Won't the Ophir be surprised?"

"Surprised about what?" I asked, feeling I had been here before.

"Wait," he said, "you'll want to see this. I had a talk with the steward and Captain Halvorsen this morning."

The crew of the Spaniel issued forth, dressed in their best, and came in single file for their audience with His Majesty. Each bore some gift, ranging from their second best shirts to bottles of Lyrican perfume. Each was accepted, though Mukden (for so I might as well call him) did wish to examine several of them more closely. Baxter himself carried a case of sherry and, wonder of wonders, one of Captain Halvorsen's uniform coats. Mukden admired it greatly, and I believe he'd have tried it on immediately had it not been for his fur capelet.

Eventually the flow of supplicants came to a halt. Surprisingly, there were still a few of the kegs on the barge.

"Why do you suppose no one's taking the last of the kegs?" I asked, thinking out loud.

"Cadbury tells me that the beer doesn't keep indefinitely, so they try not to take more than they can reasonably drink. And I don't suppose the sailors realize that they can take more than one barrel. I didn't tell them, because I didn't know, and the Captain said he'd punish most severely anyone who traded more than once."

"A moment ago, you were saying..." I began, but this time I stopped myself, unable to believe my eyes. The oarsmen, Foudek and Parnas, had returned to the barge, opened the bung on the remaining kegs, and were blithely emptying them into the lake.

"Well now," said Carbuncle as he strolled up to us, "Now we know why the fish get so big here." I looked at him sourly; Philpott reacted not at all, but remained focussed on the action. It was over in a few minutes.

"My goodness," he said slowly. "My...goodness." He continued to stare at the barge, apparently lost in thought, until I slapped him on the back.

"Now, Philpott," I said, "What were you saying about the Ophir?"

"The Ophir?" He blinked at me, glasses reflecting the yellow sunlight. "Oh, the Ophir. Yes, won't he be surprised?"

"About what, Philpott?" I asked with laudable patience.

"About this village." He looked brightly at me.

"Yes," I said slowly, "About this village, yes?"

"Well, wouldn't you be?" he asked, seriously.

"Be what?"

"Surprised, of course."

I just looked at him expectantly, and ignored Carbuncle's muffled snickers.

"To find out that one of his villages is a Zymurgian dependency, I mean." He blinked some more.

I looked at Carbuncle. I looked at Philpott. I looked at Mukden, but he didn't notice. I turned and looked across the fields at the village. I scratched my head. I put my left hand under my right elbow, and rested my mouth on my right hand, and studied Philpott over my knuckles. It may be that I blinked slowly, from time to time. Finally Carbuncle said, "Are you sure of this, Philpott?"

"Are you sure you surveyed the line of the cliff correctly?"

"Most certainly," I replied stiffly.

"Ethnomonotony is my field, Thomas," he said seriously. "Of course I'm sure."

"Perhaps we'd best continue this discussion in the lounge," said Carbuncle.

As we walked back to the gangplank, I noticed several enormous fish frolicking in the water near the barge.