Through Darkest Zymurgia!

We embarked at once, and wafted down the slow-moving Lees River from Pelham Pond to the Sea of Dogs. I should spend a few moments describing our craft, as the aptly-named Sea-Spaniel was to be our home and good friend for most of our journey. The Spaniel, as we called her, was a new craft, large, well-appointed, and designed with the most modern techniques of Anglish phantasmagoria. She was equipped with two masts, and several suits of gossamer sails that allowed her to ride the ur-winds like the sailing ships of older days, but more usually she was driven over the water on a cushion of foam by powerful strokes of her phantail. This represented a great advance, and no sooner had we left the dock than Carbuncle had gone below to talk to the ship's phantasts, babbling about power ratios and ley-lines.

Meanwhile, Philpott and myself explored the upper decks. The staterooms were large and spacious, with running water and speaking orbs, and the central lounge was surprisingly luxurious. It was quite a vessel for a scholarly expedition, and I wondered how it had been paid for. The Earl of Luton's secretary had handled most of the arrangements, and it was in my mind that perhaps the Spaniel was the Earl's personal yacht. If so, Philpott gave no sign of it, exclaiming over each new discovery as eagerly as myself, and indeed never so much as mentioned his father's rank during the whole of the summer. He had shown nothing but surprise and delight at our change in plans, and Carbuncle and I were eventually forced to conclude that he knew nothing of his father's dealings with Dean Nuftison.

After settling into our quarters, we descended into the hold to take stock of the expedition's supplies. The earl, while careful to avoid any unwarranted expenditure, had nevertheless been open-handed, and we had everything important that we had asked for. To begin with, there was the Spaniel herself. She would be our home and conveyance from Angland to the upper reaches of the river Aram, which flows through the antique land of Seros. Even then we would not leave her for long, making short forays into Zymurgia, and then returning to the river to write up our notes. In addition we had all the tools of the mythogeographer's trade: pencils, paper, a number of transit compasses, and my especial darling, a Hansen's geometer.

This invaluable device had been invented not many years before, and in this short time had completely replaced all other methods of determining position at sea and in strange lands...at least, for those who could afford it. Gone are the days of navigation by the height of the moon and the transit of the sun! A few minutes with the Hansen's geometer suffices to determine both the direction and distance to the Observatory in Pelham to within a few seconds of arc and a few yards of distance. This, combined with a transit compass, is all the skilled mythogeographer needs to construct accurate maps; and mapping, after all, is the heart and soul of mythogeography. Fortunately, I had Carbuncle along to operate the device; the use of any but the simplest kind of phantasm is utterly beyond me, and I had already promised never to touch the geometer, or the phantasmic equipment, or indeed, even to pass the door of the Carbuncle's work room in his absence. I have been known to stop phantasms by my mere presence, and Carbuncle was taking no chances.

In addition to the scientific supplies and equipment, we of course had sufficient food and drink for explorers and crew for the expected duration of the sea-voyage, plus sufficient funds to purchase anything we should run out of. I shall not often have to speak of such things, save to say that Carbuncle and I had provided several dozen cases of the finest sherry and other dainties out of our own pockets. Pockets, of course, that did not have to foot the bill for any of the rest of the trip. We projected that the sherry would last at least a month and a half; after that, it appeared that the Spaniel had a well-stocked wine-locker. Carbuncle judged the locker's lock to be of no great consequence.

At first glance it may seem odd to bring an Applied Phantasticist along on a mythogeographic expedition, but I trust that the practicality of such a choice has been made plain. An expedition lives on its equipment, and Carbuncle it was that kept the various phantasms in working order. Carbuncle, though an academician, is a man of his hands, and he relishes the chance to muck about with phantasms where his colleagues in the Theoretical Phantastics department can't see. But beyond this, there is a deeper rationale; after all, a mere phantast could be hired for the maintenance work, and on many expeditions would be.

Phantasmagoria vary from country to country, and indeed from town to town, even in the Known World. The phantasmagoria of a hitherto undiscovered culture could be strange indeed. Should we find such in Zymurgia, it would be up to Carbuncle to figure it out; and moreover how to use it and bring the techniques back to Angland. If the defining question of Theoretical Phantastics is, "Why ever did it do that?", that of Applied Phantastics is, "How can I make it do that again?" Carbuncle is an Applied Phantasticist in the best sense. His skills have been life-and-death on previous expeditions, and would be so again.

Shipboard life has a rhythm of its own, and we had settled comfortably into our daily routine before the Spaniel reached the mouth of the Lees. Carbuncle's days were occupied with the expedition's equipment, of course, and Philpott's were spent cramming cartography. Carbuncle and I had managed many previous outings without an ethnomonotonist, and though I know less of ethnomonotony than I do of phantastics, it was hard to see how it could be useful to us. The expedition might be of great interest to Philpott in that capacity, but I saw no reason why he should not contribute more centrally. As a result, I had set him to studying the more basic texts on mythocartography: Carmichael's Projective Dysplasia, Eucalypt's Geometry of Plains and Mountains, and especially A Short Course in Surveying, by Petronius--still one of the best, despite its age. For variety, he also had available to him our past publications and notes on Seros and Zymurgia.

For my part, I spent the days walking the deck, conversing with Captain Halvorsen and his crew, watching the coast glide by, and, as I recall, napping a great deal.

In the evenings we would gather in the lounge after dinner for sherry and conversation. Philpott had (and has) a distressing tendency to talk shop on such occasions, but as he was, after all, in training, and as he played a skilled game of backgammon, we forgave him this foible. On one particular evening, early in the voyage, he had been reading about position-fixing.

"It seems such a difficult task," he said, "that I'm surprised that maps get made at all. The height of the moon isn't so bad, at least at night and in clear weather, but how does one measure in the daytime? And even with good measurements, the results seem approximate at best."

"Ah," I said, "I had forgotten. The texts I've given you are the best on the subject, but they all predate the invention of the Hansen's geometer!" I was about to explain the uses of the geometer when Carbuncle interrupted me.

"Speaking of which, Leon," he said, "someone let it out of its box. I went below this morning, and found it scampering about the hold. It was greatly distressed, of course, but more than that, the fumble-fingered idiot who released it had gotten it completely out of adjustment. It took me the better part of the day to get it soothed and retuned." He eyed me as he spoke. "You will speak to the Captain again, won't you, and remind him that our equipment must not be disturbed?"

"Of course I will, Thomas, when next I see him." I privately resolved to check the latch more carefully in future, and changed the subject. "But surely, Philpott--"

"Thaddeus, please."

"Very well, Thaddeus, surely--"

"And actually, my friends call me Thad."

"Thad, then. And you may call me Leon. Now, surely, you haven't spent all day with Eucalypt and Petronius? Fundamental, but rather dry, don't you think?"

"But fascinating, sir,--"

"Leon," I said. Childish, I suppose.

"But fascinating, Leon. However, I spent most of the afternoon renewing my acquaintance with your own mythogeography text. Cartography is all very well, but I want to understand what I'm mapping."

"Laudable, indeed," I said, pleased. "Have you any questions I could help you with? Oh, and Thomas, the bottle stands by you." Philpott was silent as Carbuncle refilled our glasses and I set up the backgammon board, and he did not speak again until Carbuncle had beaten me three times running. I sometimes think that Thomas has an arrangement with the dice, though of course I would never say such a thing.

Finally Philpott pursed his lips, and said, slowly, "I'm afraid, Leon, that I still don't understand your previous plans for an expedition to the Lyricum Peninsula. It seemed to me then, and your own writing confirms it, that Lyricum is too well-visited to be an appropriate region of study. But perhaps I'm missing something."

"Only the joke, young Thaddeus," said Carbuncle. "Leon and I were contemplating a pleasure-trip, no more, this season."

"Then the hundreds of streets and avenues--"

"--And inns and taverns," winked Carbuncle.

"--are adequately well-explored by hundreds of Anglish visitors," I finished, "as Dean Nuftison was so quick to remind me. No, Lyricum is very much a part of the Known World, and its character and identity firmly fixed in place. Thousands of people visit it each year, and the glory of Lyrican wines and Lyrican opera are a byword from Pelham to Plum Street. It offers no interest to the serious mythogeographer."

"But then, why go?"

"One can't always be a serious mythogeographer, Thad. Those hundreds of streets and avenues, yes, and inns and taverns, Thomas, have been adequately explored, but not by me. And then, of course, there is the Grand Opera of Lyricum. Tell me, Thad, have you ever been to the opera?" I glanced at him quizzically.

"Why, no. This is my first trip away from Angland."

"Well, then," I said. "I understand that we will be stopping at Lyricum Town in a few days to restock and take on phantail fodder. The Captain had planned to remain only a few hours, but I see no harm in making a full day of it. The weather has been so fine that we are ahead of schedule, and as the Dean was kind enough to cancel our fall classes, we are in no great hurry."

"But shouldn't we use our good fortune to get to Zymurgia that much earlier?"

"Oh, no one will begrudge a short layover in Lyricum Town. Think of it as an opportunity for some fieldwork. Lyricum may be a closed book to me, professionally, but it's a ripe field for the ethnomonotonist. The opera, alone, is a remarkable phenomenon. I happen to know that Rotini's Chianti will be performed during our visit; perhaps you'd care to join me? It's your best opportunity to see the Lyricans in their natural habitat." That persuaded him, as I knew it would. Fieldwork and pleasure seldom mix, but when they do the result is irresistable even to the most disciplined researcher. Philpott, having never before left Angland, was, as they say, a pushover.

And so it was settled: we would spend a day and a night in Lyricum Town. It would be our last taste of high culture for many months, and I, at least, intended to enjoy it fully.