Through Darkest Zymurgia!

As it turned out, my rash, childish, I will even say foolhardy, insistence on venturing into the square unescorted bore the most delectable fruit, and the next weeks went swimmingly well. Each day Carbuncle and I went surveying in the countryside, and each day Philpott went ethnomonotonizing in the town, and each evening we dined well and then joined the promenade in the square. By the second week's end we had surveyed all of the principle roads and fields in the vicinity, and many of the smaller ones as well. At the time we had no idea what progress Philpott was making, as he persisted in his refusal to speak of it.

Good times often make poor tales, yet there is much to tell of those two weeks. We had been given to believe that each of the four Masters of Tomar would be escorting us in our daily rounds--that is, that the duty would rotate among them so that each would spend time with us. In the event, that did not happen. Firenz and Mukden were our invariable companions on our surveying trips, just as Asha escorted Philpott and Cadbury about the town. In the evenings, it was always (but for one notable occasion) Asha who came to collect us, though Firenz frequently joined us later. We saw little of Simuny or Nabili, or rather we spoke seldom with Nabili, for he was a constant presence if we were abroad in the town. He never came near, but his eye was often upon us.

For my part I was pleased with the arrangement. Firenz was a delightful old soul, and his knowledge of Serosan both eased conversation and lessened the strain on Mukden's translating skills. It was therefore from idle curiousity that I questioned him about it. He answered readily enough.

"Asha has her own reasons for remaining in town," he said, casting a wry look sidelong at me; we were on donkeyback, riding down a dusty road south of the town. I nodded, and he nodded, and then he continued. "Simuny is as old as I," he said, "but not as strong as she was. She could not manage all of this tramping and traipsing about the countryside. It is hard enough for me! I have not slept so well in many years."

"And glad I am for your company, my friend," I said. "But if it is hard for you, could not young Nabili take your place from time to time?"

Firenz leaned over to the left, and spat on the ground. "That for young Nabili," he grunted. And no more would he say.

I must say that I was surprised to find that his feelings about Nabili so closely matched my own, though I silently questioned his answer about Simuny. She had not seemed notably frail the few times we had met.

As a side effect of our nightly promenades, we began to meet more of the Tomaren people. This was due in no small part to Carbuncle's increasing disappointment and frustation with the state of Zymurgian phantastics, if indeed I may even use such a positive term for such an apparently non-existent thing. There were no phantasms anywhere we went. Granted, we were out in the country most of the day, where phantasms might reasonably be scarce, but there were none in the public areas of the village, nor any in the hostel. It's possible that Philpott might have encountered some in his travels about the town, but such was his concern for Carbuncle that I believe he would have overcome his unnatural reticence and mentioned them; always assuming, of course, that he noticed their existence.

As I have said, Carbuncle is a man who must be tinkering, and our geometer and other instruments required only so much tuning when used daily. Finding no native Zymurgian phantasms to tinker with, it was perforce necessary for him to make his own. Time and materials were both in short supply, of course, and so his creations were small and simple: things that whirled on the ground, or flew through the air, or turned colors while playing a tune. Toys, in other words. Each morning he packed a small box with materials and oddments and his current projects, and during our rest breaks or on our ever-lengthening rides a-donkeyback he would take them out and tinker with them, crooning at them softly. By day's end he'd have another little thingumbob. It was all magic to me, of course.

Firenz and Mukden were much taken with his creations (as, indeed, was I), but not half so much as the Zymurgian children. Each evening Carbuncle would bring a toy or two to show off to the people we met in the square; before many days had passed there was always a crowd of small dark figures waiting for him in the square, ready to drag him off in a flurry of shouts and giggles.

I believe the most popular creation was a gooney ball. The children had never seen one before, naturally, and weren't sure what to make of it. It didn't seem to move or fly or change color like Carbuncle's other toys; it was just a red ball, about a foot in diameter. Carbuncle put it on the ground and gave it a kick, and naturally enough the youngsters went swarming after. A fine game had just developed, the ball shooting all around the square, when Carbuncle cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Gooney!". The complection of the game changed instantly, as any Anglish lad would have expected. Before they had been kicking the ball merrily to and fro; now it was still moving merrily to and fro, but not one of them could so much as connect a toe with it. There were several minutes of spreading consternation, at the end of which a circle of horrified children stood and stared at the errant red ball. One or another would jump into the middle of the circle, trying to grab the ball, but the ball simply would not be caught, remaining always at least one foot away from the pursuer's outstretched hands or feet, until one particularly sharp young girl managed to work it into a corner.

"Gooney!" said the ball as she laid her hands upon it, and the poor girl jumped back, lost her balance, and might have come to harm if her friends had not come to her aid. She approached it again, reaching our her hands gingerly, but the ball neither spoke nor attempted to get away.

"All right, Thomas," I said to Carbuncle, who was chortling merrily. "Don't you think you had better go explain it to them?"

"No need, Leon, no need," he replied, wiping his eyes. "Look."

And it was true. The girl had carried the ball back into the middle of the square, put it down, and hollered "Gooney!" at the top of her voice. The ball jumped a little, and resumed its evasive activities, to the utter delight of the assembled youngsters, and not a few of their parents. Play resumed, rules were devised, and the next night additional torches were brought in, the better to light the center of the square for the children's play. Gooney ball remained a popular pastime for the duration of our stay in Tomar.

Several evenings later we were approached by the rotund gentleman who had bought Captain Halvorsen's uniform coat at the auction. He was a broad and beaming fellow, with curly white hair, bad yellow teeth, and a ready supply of laughter. Asha introduced him to us as Tomar's grain balancer, and translated his request that we be his honored guests for dinner the following day. It was by no means clear to us what a grain balancer's duties entailed, though he looked remarkably well-fed; consequently we accepted with alacrity, at which he beamed even more widely than before. Then he called out, "Gooney!", clapped Carbuncle on the shoulder, and laughing, moved on through the crowd. I don't suppose he realized what he done to the gooney ball game going on a few yards away, but I detected some high-pitched muttering until the children got things squared away again.

The following day we returned to the hostel after our day's work, and got cleaned and dressed as best we could; and then Asha and Firenz came to escort us to dinner.

The grain balancer, whose name was Roshnoy, lived in a fine big house directly across the square from that of the Hinkaya, Mukden's family. Roshnoy himself met us at the door, and escorted us up a flight of steps and into an upper room where a long table was set. The company consisted of Roshnoy and his wife, Asha, Firenz, and Mukden, and all of our company save for Norfolk and Suffolk.

The food and drink were excellent, being similar to that which we had had the night of the festival. I said us much to our host, who smiled. Mukden translated his response with a grin of his own.

"He says is sorry not to have more greatly excelled the table of the Hinkaya; he shall have to try harder."

"And why is that, friend Mukden?"

"The Hinkaya and the Vastids have ever been rivals in Tomar. My great-grandfather would never have entered a Vastid house, nor been welcome in one."

"The Vastids, then, are an important family in Tomar?"

"Indeed. Just as the Hinkaya are responsible for dispersing the waters of Basenis, the Vastids are responsible for balancing the grain."

"And do they also count one of the Masters of Tomar in their number?"

Mukden grunted. "Nabili," he said shortly. I would have asked him more, but at that time my host's voice reminded me of my rudeness in monopolizing the translator.

Though the food was good, the conversation was necessarily rather stilted. Politeness dictated that we converse with Roshnoy, for which we needed Mukden's services as translator; politeness further decreed that we not talk over much among ourselves. The dinner was thus a rather constrained affair. At a loss for topics of conversation, I asked after Roshnoy's position. After much confusion and discussion, it became clear.

The economy of Tomar, like that of any other agricultural town, is based on farm produce. Many different crops were grown in the vicinity, but the dominant crop was the grain, similar to wheat, which we had eaten as porridge every morning since our arrival. The Vastid family were the managers of the town granary. I thought for a moment that Roshnoy's title implied that he was responsible for weighing out the measures of grain in some way, but I was mistaken; "balancer" is an exact translation, but "accountant" or even "banker" would be a better one. The Zymurgians have no coinage; wealth is held as shares in the contents of the grainery. When a farmer brings his harvest to the grainery, he receives so many grainery shares. He must have shoes, clothing, and tools; for these things he transfers grainery shares to the ranchers, bakers, tailors, and so forth. Roshnoy's principle responsibility was keeping track of the shares owned by each member of the community.

"But surely you know all this!" he exclaimed (via Mukden). "Thed asked all of these questions of me many days ago." I shot a glance at Philpott, who had the grace to look embarrassed, and replied, "Firsthand knowledge is always to be preferred."

Not surprisingly, Fox had played a reasonably large part in the discussion. Now he asked a question which I daresay would never have occurred to me.

"Your system works very well for transactions among the citizens of Tomar; but what of trade with other towns?" Mukden translated the question, and Roshnoy, pleased with such a clever audience, began to expound on Basenis knows what. Before he had gotten very far, and before Mukden had translated any of his speech, Asha announced that it was late, that the promenade was beginning, and that it was time to go. Roshnoy looked hurt, but nodded at another word from Asha, and ponderously stood up, thanking us all for our presence. We thanked him in turn, and silently filed out into the square.

Naturally I braced Cadbury as soon as I could. We linked arms, and strolled along, pretending to watch the children at play.

"What was his nibs saying when Asha interrupted him?"

"He said not much, Hakim Effendi. He mentioned a tithe, and the dispersal of the waters of Basenis."

"Tomar pays this tithe to some other town?"

"It seems not, my friend. Tomar does not pay this tithe, though other towns do."

"Do the other towns pay this tithe to Tomar?"

"I do not know, Hakim."

And with that I had to be satisfied, though I wondered what Philpott could have added to it, Philpott with the lovely Asha ever by his side.