Through Darkest Zymurgia!

I shall remember that 1st of Ragout with dread as long as ever I shall live.

It is thought by the simple that if one were to ascend to the top of a sufficiently high tower, equipped with a sufficiently powerful telescope, that one would be able to see the entire world. This is, of course, absurd, and any child with an ounce of sense can see why. If the world really does stretch infinitely far in all directions, and there is no reason to believe that it does not, any tower of finite height is but a miniscule bump. At a sufficient distance from the tower, even a low range of hills would hide many details beyond. Foreshortening would have muddled all detail long before that.

Somewhat more lofty objections are made, late at night, by the sophomores at Glastonbury. "Well, now", one would ask, "if you did, just for the sake of argument, ascend a high enough tower to see beyond the edge of the Known World, what would you see there? Nothing! It's unknown, innit!" "But would it be blank? Or would it become Known as you watched?" Someone else would point out that the Lands of Fable lie beyond the Known World; it wouldn't be blank, just uncertain. Eventually someone would drag out that horrid old chestnut, "If a country is inhabited, but nobody observes it, does it have a culture?" Yes, I am afraid I remember those days very well.

The real answer to the question of the tower is a dull and dreary one: if you were to ascend to the top of a sufficiently high tower, equipped with a sufficiently powerful telescope, and were to cast your gaze out over the wide world, what you would mostly see is a considerable quantity of weather. Air is lovely stuff, but in large quantities it's really not as transparent as all that. This is a fact easily checked by any visitor to the mountain streams and lakes of High Bastille. Mere geometry suggests that a Bastillian with a powerful telescope should be able to observe the hangings in front of Newbury Prison in Pelham. Experience reveals that one cannot, though the Lord knows I tried hard enough.

All this is by way of explaining that, though no stranger to high places, I was utterly unprepared for the ordeal of ascending three thousand feet of sheer cliff through air of a clarity beyond crystalline in a rickety wooden cage swaying back and forth at the end of a worn-looking rope made by people too dim to recognize good beer.

It was a great pity, as I had quite been looking forward to the experience. I was especially keen to see the terrain to the east and west, but it was no use; the cliffs above Lake Saco form a southward-pointing vee, with the waterfalls at its tip; the encircling cliffs blocked our view in those directions. Constrained as it was, though, it was still a view we had missed on our previous visit. The donkey path begins some miles from Cadbury's village, and ascends, switchback upon switchback, up a narrow canyon leading back into the cliff. In our brief stay, we had never come near to the cliff's edge, or seen Seros from above.

In other circumstances--more stable circumstances--it would have been a lovely view. Seros is rather flat, and the eye could easily trace the Aram Valley from Lake Saco all the way north (so says Carbuncle) to the Aram delta and the city of Phillipi, with the Sea of Dogs a bright blue ribbon just beyond. The sky was unusual in its clarity that day; true, there is little mist or clouds in Serosan skies, but there is usually a fair quantity of dust. That day was hot but still. No air moved, and dust was raised only by the movements of men and their beasts of burden. Perhaps with the proverbial telescope I would have been able to see the shores of Arrastia. I, or rather, Carbuncle. When the swaying began I sat abruptly down on the floor and closed my eyes. Faithful Bruno rested his head in my lap, and we sat together that way for the duration.

The day began pleasantly enough. We had got our team and gear prepared the day before; indeed, much of our gear was already on the way. After conferring with Cadbury, who in turn conferred with Mukden, it was judged the wisest thing if we should provide our own transport once we reached the top of the plateau. Accordingly, Cadbury had sent the bulk of our belongings up the trail on donkey back, in the keeping of his two nephews. These young men were not much younger than Cadbury himself, being the twin sons of his wife's eldest brother, and I am afraid that I cannot record their names. By the time they were brought to my attention, Carbuncle had already christened them Norfolk and Suffolk, and Norfolk and Suffolk they remained for the duration of our stay. Indeed, they may still be using their nicknames, for aught I know--it is certain that I never heard Cadbury addressed by his neighbors as anything but "Khedboori". Norfolk and Suffolk had started off the previous afternoon, and would likely beat us to the top. Mukden's brother Parnas accompanied them, to guide them, and to introduce them to his countrymen.

For the sake of posterity, I suppose I should, with all due solemnity, record the names of the members of the exploration party: myself, Dr. Leon Thintwhistle; Prof. Thomas Carbuncle; Dr. Thaddeus Philpott; our Serosan guide and friend, Cadbury; Merchant Seamen William L. Hodgins; our reluctant guest Frederick Fox, nee Forsythe; Norfolk and Suffolk; to say nothing of our dog Bruno. We rose at dawn (a bright yellow sun), gathered our necessities together, quickly broke our fasts, and trooped down to the shoreline, to wait for Mukden and his brother Foudek. The previous evening they had been entertained once more by the village, though on a considerably less lavish scale, and once more proved the superiority of Azizim customs by not only arriving on time but in cheerful humour.

"Hail, my friends," cried Mukden in his accented Serosan. "It is time! Let us embark!" As we boarded, Mukden paid special attention to Bruno, who was chasing small birds among the reeds. "That is an amazing animal," he said to me. "We have no dogs so large in our land. It is a pity; my people think me a teller of large stories, and they will never believe in such a large black dog unless they see it for themselves."

"Easily done," I said, "as he's going with us." Mukden looked at me blankly, and then with consternation, as I whistled sharply and shouted in Anglish. "Bruno! Here, boy!" The dismay was replaced by surprise as Bruno looked up at the whistle, and then came bounding through the water and along the shore at my shout. The surprise did not decrease as Bruno paused to shake himself dry, leaped on to the barge, and settled himself at my feet. Mukden stared at me for another moment, and then turned to order our departure.

We all settled ourselves down where we would not be in the way, and Foudek and Mukden placed the long oars into their locks. Several of Cadbury's friends pushed the barge from the shore, and we began the long, slow trip to the base of the cliffs. Along the way, Mukden explained that we would not be able to ride up on the barge itself, as hoisting it back up was much harder than lowering it down to the lake. The barge would go first, and then the goods, and finally we would go.

Presently we arrived at a rocky ledge extending out into the lake, where Foudek made the barge fast to a wooden post. Standing on the ledge was the aforementioned rickety wooden box, about ten feet square, with windows on three sides and a door on the fourth. A heavy rope cable was attached to a ring on the top by means of a metal hook. Lying several yards away was a harness of the same heavy rope, with more hooks and another ring in the center.

At Mukden's request, we all turned to, moving goods from the barge to the ledge. When the barge was empty, Mukden and Foudek carefully attached the harness to the ring bolts on the barge's deck. The cable was detached from the roof of the box and hooked to the harness, after which the barge was unmoored.

I saw no obvious signal to the watchers on the cliff so high above, but no sooner had Foudek cast the barge adrift than the cable tightened, the harness groaned, and the barge started to rise slowly but smoothly into the sky. As it rose, and as we stiffened our necks watching it, the Zymurgians began loading goods into the box, taking care not to fill it above the level of the windows.

Eventually the cable descended again, and the box made several trips by itself until it was our turn. It easily held the eight of us, and Bruno. We entered, fastened the door carefully, and were soon being hoisted into the sky, with the results I have already related. It was nearly dark when we reached the top. The box was pulled in over the edge of the cliff by some means I could not discern in the gloom, and settled to the ground with a bump. There were shouts, and laughter, and eager hands helping us out of the box.

At last we had returned to Zymurgia.