Through Darkest Zymurgia!

Leaving Norfolk and Suffolk to keep an eye on our things, we followed Mukden down the street, and into the square. It was not until he led us up to the second floor of a large house which fronted on the square that I realized the extent of the Zymurgian devotion to hospitality.

"The Masters of Tomar have decreed that you may observe our festival, but that you may not take part," he said. "Therefore, I have brought you here, to my family home. Food and drink will be brought to you, and from here you may see all that there is to see. You must not leave this house until the festival ends. I will return at that time, to take you back to the hostel."

From what I could see, it would be no hardship to stay where we were. The room had two wide windows overlooking the square, and six chairs had been placed before them. An elegant table of some reddish native wood already supported cups and an earthenware jug.

"By Prudentius!" I exclaimed after sampling its contents. "This isn't fruit juice."

"Beer?" asked Carbuncle.

"No," I said, taking another cautious sip. "Carbuncle, do you remember that friendly fellow we met on our first visit?" Carbuncle's eyebrows shot up. "I think this was distilled by his brother." As the others hastened to fill their glasses, I took a seat by the lefthand window, and set mine on the sill. I resolved to nurse it slowly. The upcoming revels might be of great interest, and I wished to keep my wits about me.

At present, there was not much to see. Mukden's house stood near the midpoint of the north side of the square, thus affording us an excellent view. The southeast quadrant was dominated by the fountain, as it had been earlier in the day. The southwest quadrant held rows of trestle tables, soon to be loaded with food and drink; the unmistakeable scent of roasting meet drifted across the square and into our aerie. I sipped my drink, and began to hope that dinner would not be long in arriving.

The northern half of the square was empty, save for shadows that grew steadily longer as the pale blue sun decreased in the west. A platform, about ten yards long by three wide, had been set up at the western end, in front of the Hall of the Masters, thus putting it to our left. It was neatly but not expensively made of wood, and I imagine it was knocked down and stored in a closet when not in use. Behind it was a backdrop of white fabric, possibly some received during the recent trading. Torches, unlit in the late afternoon sun, stood ready at the two front corners, and indeed all around the square.

Carbuncle and Philpott soon came and took the seats to my right and my left.

"I wonder just what it is that they are celebrating," said Philpott as he sat down, mug in hand.

"I suppose they are rejoicing that Mukden and his brothers have returned safely," I said.

"If this is a theologically sophisticated culture, you may well be right, Leon."

"And if it is unsophisticated?" asked Carbuncle.

"Then I would expect the celebration to have a religious nature. It might be motivated by Mukden's success, but if so I would expect a strong element of thanksgiving to the diety." Philpott leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on the window sill, looking about eagerly for signs of thanksgiving. Or so I surmise.

Presently the torches were lit, and the Tomarens began to gather in the square. Some began to set out platters and trays of food on the tables; the remainder gathered in front of the torchlit platform. Soon the square was nearly full of whiteclad figures. Occasionally a dog would enter the square from some street or alley, wander about, perhaps drink from the fountain, and wander away again. I took another sip, feeling the strong liquor begin to go my head. I was on the verge of going downstairs to look for some victuals when the backdrop was pushed aside, and four figures appeared on the platform. They were difficult to see in the torch light, but it was not hard to guess who they were.

One of them--I believe it was Firenz, the old man--came to the front of the platform. He waited there as the crowd became still, and finally, over the sound of a dog lapping at the fountain, he spoke.

"What did he say?" I whispered to Philpott.

"I'm not sure, but I think he mentioned the Water of Basenis," Philpott replied in quite a normal voice. I started, and looked down at the crowd below, but no one seemed to be paying us any attention. When I looked up again, three men were standing before the platform. One of them shouted out a short phrase, and there was pandemonium.

Every man, woman, and child in the square erupted in a frenzy of shouting and hooting. The three men stood before the platform with their arms upraised in triumph, and then were engulfed by the crowd. Still shouting, the Tomarens embraced each of the men in turn, a tide flowing up to the platform and then to the heavily loaded tables of food. In far shorter a time than seemed likely the whole assemblage was feasting, sitting on the ground or perched on the rim of the fountain. The three men sat with the Masters on the platform, and food was brought to them.

And, not a moment too soon, to us as well. I heard the footsteps on the stairs and rejoiced, for the scene before me was swaying inconstantly to and fro. Shortly thereafter, the table in our aerie was laden with roast meat, a selection of fruits, and, a miracle, a kind of cheese! We lost no time in filling our platters and returning to our seats.

"I do believe that those three men are Mukden and his brothers," I said. Philpott nodded vigorously, as if to say that I had stated the obvious. Carbuncle just grunted in agreement.

The feasting lasted for about an hour, after which the crowd assembled once again in front of the platform. The Masters moved to one side, leaving the stage to Mukden, Foudek, and Parnas. Mukden shouted out something in a jovial tone of voice, and the crowd twittered as they settled onto the ground. Then, after all were seated, a man I didn't recognize carried a large sack on to the platform. Mukden gestured at it as he spoke, apparently describing it, and then looked expectantly at the crowd. A fellow stood up just below us, and called something back. Mukden replied, and looked about the crowd. No one else stood up, and finally he nodded at the fellow and waved at the sack. The fellow came forward, stepping deftly through the seated figures, and carried the sack off.

Next, Mukden's assistant came forth with a fine embroidered robe, and a wild surmise began to grow within my breast. I watched in fascination as Mukden described it to the crowd. Several people stood up immediately, and began calling out to him. Mukden listened intently, pointing first to one and then to another as the calling continued. Eventually one of the callers sat down, to be followed shortly by another, until finally only one was standing. Mukden nodded to the fellow, and waited patiently as the man came forward to collect the robe. When he resumed his place, I noticed that the woman next to him clutched possessively at it.

"They're auctioning off the things Mukden and his brothers brought back," said Carbuncle in some surprise.

"I'd wager that's how Mukden's family earns their living. They take beer to Seros, and auction off the goods they get in return," I said. "I wonder how much the beer costs them, and how far it has to come."

We watched in silence as the items were carried out and knocked down one by one. By far the most popular item was Captain Halvorsen's uniform coat, which finally went to a rotund, prosperous looking fellow. I noted with amusement that the case of wine never appeared; was it withheld by the Masters, or by Mukden and his brothers? Or had it already been drunk?

When the auction was over, the Masters returned to the platform. One of them (from the silvery tones it must have been Asha) spoke for a few moments, and then gestured at Mukden, who spoke for a longer period of time. "He's telling about his trip," said Philpott, "I can tell that much." A hush fell over the crowd as Mukden spoke; no one moved or spoke until, with a sweeping gesture, Mukden directed their attention to us in our window. All turned to look our way, and I gulped.

"Logically," said Philpott, "this is when they should tear us to pieces. If they are going to." Carbuncle and I scowled at him, but he didn't notice, being far too intent on the spectacle before him.

Then the moment passed, and Mukden wrapped up his story. The Masters chanted a few words, holding their hands over their heads, and then left the platform. The crowd, far from attacking us, went about their business, leaving a few to clean up. The festival was over.

No one spoke for several moments. Philpott was still staring out at the square, and Carbuncle was looking into the depths of his mug. Eventually he drained it, and stood up.

"Well, young Thad," he said, "what is your considered opinion of the proceedings?"

"Why, I haven't had time to consider them, Thomas," replied Philpott, half rising from his seat, and turning to look at Carbuncle. "I won't have any definite conclusions for some time."

"Perhaps Philpott Effendi could share his unconsidered opinion?" Cadbury had risen from his place before the other window. He had, I feared from his tone, been drinking. He's not supposed to, of course, but among Arrastians he tends to forget himself.

"Yes, Thad," said Hodgins, also rising. "Are they going to kill us tomorrow?" Hodgins, now, I knew he'd been drinking.

Philpott pondered this last question for rather longer than I thought it deserved, and then answered, quite seriously, "I won't know until I see the Masters again."

"Really?" I said. "If they are going to kill us, you'll see the fire in their eyes?"

"Or perhaps the axes in their hands?" said Carbuncle.

He looked at us both in puzzlement. "What?"

I rolled my eyes. "When you see the Masters again, you'll know whether they are going to kill us."

He nodded. "Yes."

"How?"

"They'll tell us, of course. Weren't you listening to Mukden's translation, Leon? They are going to make up their minds, and then let us know."

The conversation might have deteriorated into personalities at this point; it had been a long, trying day. Before I could respond, though, we heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Mukden entered.

"The Masters will see you tomorrow morning," he said gravely. "I shall come to take you to them."

"Have you any idea what they will say?" asked Carbuncle.

"The Masters will see you tomorrow morning," he repeated. "Now I must take you back to the hostel."