Through Darkest Zymurgia!

On the following day, the 17th of Ragout, Carbuncle found what he had been longing for.

Firenz and Mukden came for us at the usual time; Asha did not come for Philpott, which was just as well, as Philpott did not come to breakfast. He had sat up, drinking, later than I had, and had started earlier, and was, as they say, "not fit". We left him in his cot, with Cadbury and Fox to see to his needs, and went out. Cadbury remained as a matter of course; he had grown quite devoted to Philpott. We had more or less assumed that Fox would join us, but he begged fatigue, saying that a banker's life had not prepared him for this constant tramping about. I assented, though I raised an eyebrow at Carbuncle. Young Frederick had shown no difficulty in keeping up with us for the past two weeks, not to speak of his journey up the Aram to Lake Saco.

For the first time since our arrival we were at a loose end. We had explored the immediate surroundings, except in the vicinity of the river; we had so far ignored the river as we expected to follow it south when we moved our base camp to another locale. We had not yet discussed these plans with our hosts, however, and it seemed likely that we might yet be some days in Tomar straightening up after Philpott. That could not be done with Philpott in a state and with Asha evidently uninclined to be forgiving. All in all, I went out that morning motivated more by a strong desire not be in the hostel than by any interest in my chosen field, and when Carbuncle suggested we pay another visit to the hoist I gladly agreed. At worst it would be a pleasant walk, and at best perhaps my friend would discover something new.

As it was but a few miles, and we needed no particular gear, we left all but one donkey behind. Carbuncle, Firenz, Mukden and I walked companionably along; Hodgins brought up the rear, leading the donkey on whose back Abayla had packed another of her excellent lunches; Bruno ran back and forth, ahead and behind, in his usual mad rush. As we sauntered along, Firenz told us a story of his family.

"Many, many generations ago," he said, "my ancestor Hillip travelled far and wide in the world below, dispersing the waters of Basenis. It was much harder then than it is now, for there were many more barrels, and each was dispersed by hand. We did not understand, then, the power of the great river Aram, which touches every land. My nephews are now gone for but a few days; when I was young, I was away for little longer. But Hillip, my ancestor, would remain below the cliff for week upon week, returning home only four times a year when the new waters were ready."

One may readily imagine that Carbuncle and I listened with enthusiasm. Warned by Cadbury while yet "in the world below", we had refrained from asking direct questions about the waters of Basenis, and little information had been forthcoming. I did not know at that time what Philpott might have learned on the topic, but I suspected that it was little enough.

"Now Hillip loved a girl of the Vastid, for at that time, as now, the Vastid and the Hinkaya were at peace. He courted her each time he was at home, and brought her rare gifts from the world below. Each visit he asked her to be his bride, and each time she accepted his gifts and declined his proposal, making some pretty excuse. In truth, she liked him well enough, and his stories of far-off lands, and in his absence spurned all other suitors. Oh, there were many young men who wished to marry her, for her name was Asha, and she was indeed as beautiful as the Asha you know." Here the old man kissed his fingers with a loud smack. "She would have none but Hillip, and yet she would not have Hillip either. This went on and on, and each homecoming became more painful for Hillip. He yearned to see his love, and dreaded her refusal. His gifts become more costly, and her refusals more pretty, until finally my poor ancestor was in a confusion! At last he went to her and demanded an explanation. 'You will not marry me, and give me joy; yet you will not marry anyone else and end my suffering,' he said. 'Why is this? My heart is yours...what must I do to make it acceptable to you?' 'Your great and gallant heart is perfectly acceptable to me,' she told him, 'but it is here seldom enough. Why should I share it with those you meet on your travels?'

"Now this was an unkind thing of Asha to say to Hillip, for he had always been most faithful to her. Had he been otherwise, he could not have afforded the many fine things he had brought home for her, and he said so. 'Yes,' she said, 'but a living, breathing man is a finer thing still.' At last he agreed to give over his sacred duties if she would marry him, though he must make several more journies before his younger brothers would be ready to take them on in full. And she agreed, and they were wed that very day, and there was great rejoicing."

We reached the hoist just as Firenz reached this point in the narrative, and Carbuncle desired him to wait, and to resume the story after he had completed his investigations. Accordingly, we chose a flat rock with a pleasant view of "the world below", spread a cloth, and sat down to an early lunch of bread, cold meat, cheese, fruit, and chilled fruit juice, while Carbuncle stormed about in the vicinity of the hoist looking for some small phantasm he could make friends with. At last he rejoined us, despondent, and sat down to eat.

"Still nothing?" I asked.

"Still nothing." He smiled wryly, just a flash, and then went on. "I feel like a drunkard looking about the house for a bottle of spirits after the taverns have closed. 'I know there used to be a flask in this cupboard, because I put it there myself. It wasn't there when I looked a few minutes ago, but perhaps I missed seeing it.' Well, the cupboard is still bare."

We gave him time to eat his fill, and then began to saunter back down the road, leaving Hodgins to pack the donkey and follow along after. Firenz needed little encouragement to continue his story.

"Out of love for his new wife, Hillip put off his next departure as long as he could. He was the head of the Hinkaya, and so the running of the household in his absence would be in Asha's charge; he wanted her to be well-established before he left. Oh, they were happy together, and then the day came when he must leave. There was no hoist then, and so his last duty before leaving was to see that each donkey was carefully laden, that there were enough supplies for himself and his men, and that each man had a donkey to ride. His men had made many trips with him before, and knew their work well, and so he was amazed to find an extra donkey in the baggage train, and an extra donkey with saddle and bridle. He went to his younger brother, who had the ordering of the donkeys, and demanded an explanation. His brother, my many-times great uncle, pointed back at the saddled donkey, upon whose back was now seated the lovely Asha.

"'What are you doing?' he asked her, though indeed it was a silly question, for of course she was going with him. 'I married you for all time, not just for four times a year,' she said. 'But only the Hinkaya may take the water of Basenis to the world below,' he said. And she smiled at him, and said 'So am I not the Mistress of the Hinkaya? You were ready enough to leave me in charge.'

"My ancestor Hillip was no fool, and he knew when he was beaten. Indeed she went with him, the first woman of our people to take part in the dispersing of the waters. And she went not once, only; whenever Hillip went below and returned again, his wife Asha returned with him. And in between they had many fine children."

I have not yet said much about Zymurgian weather, as it had not much affected our work. It often rained in the early afternoon, and it was our habit to seek whatever shelter there was and sit it out. It never lasted long, and the moisture always brought that pleasant, earthy smell up out of the ground. As it happens, the daily shower began just as Firenz was finishing his story; we heard the last few words under a stand of trees by the side of the road, just short of the fork where our road met the road to town and the road to the donkey trail. We settled on a fallen log under the trees, and watched the rain stream slowly down. Bruno settled into the litter at my feet, head on his paws, and watched with us. We made a companionable little group, the more so as Carbuncle had filled a hip flask with the native liquor and proceeded to share it around, "against the chill."

And then, just as the rain started to lift, Bruno raised his head and pricked up his ears. He seemed to be staring at the mouth of the abandoned road we had noticed during our first day's surveying. I laid a calming hand on his head, and looked to see what I could see. As I watched, a figure in Tomaren white entered the junction--from the abandoned road.

"And who could that be?" I said aloud. "I thought no one went there anymore." Firenz looked up, saw the figure, and froze.

"It is Nabili--where did he come from?"

"From the abandoned road. You know, the one you said lead to an older hoist site."

"My friends, we must go," Firenz said quickly, rising. "Come."

"But what of our man Hodgins?" For he had not yet caught up; I imagined him a half-mile off, exhorting the donkey to greater speed.

Firenz stood silent for a moment, hand on chin. "Yes. Wait for him. Then you must find your own way back to town, I fear, for Mukden must come also. My duty calls me." And before we quite had time to react, Firenz and Mukden had hurried down the road in pursuit of Firenz' colleague, Nabili. I looked at Carbuncle in some surprise.

"What just happened, Thomas?"

"I think perhaps our friend Nabili was seen doing something he oughtn't."

I nodded slowly. "Shall we go see what it was, Thomas?"

"Now, now, Leon. If Thaddeus were here, no doubt he'd tell you that you would be abusing Firenz' trust in you if you did."

"And your point would be, oh Gooneybah?"

"Oh, it's not my point, Leon, I won't claim it. But what of Hodgins?"

I was casting about, trying to determine how to leave him a message, when man and donkey came into view. Bruno rose delicately to his full height, stretched thoroughly, and trotted down to meet them. Carbuncle and I rose also as man and beasts drew up to where we were sitting. I offered the flask to Hodgins, who was looking rather sour. He took a nip and handed it back.

"Thank you, Professor. Where're old Muck-and-Firey?"

"They had some business to attend to, and so do we," I said. "Tie that donkey to a tree or something, and then follow me."

And so we walked to the end of the abandoned road, and then on down it. The first twenty yards or so were wild with small shrubs and larger bushes, and it was only by following the marks of Nabili's passage that we were able to find our way. From that point, just barely out of sight of the main road to Tomar, a narrow but carefully tended path stretched off to the north. Someone--Nabili, most likely--came here fairly often, Firenz' words notwithstanding.

I am not adventurous by nature, though I have acquired a small taste for adventure. Truly, I would have been happy spending the season in Lyricum Town, listening to Rotini's music. Had I been Hillip's beloved wife, I likely would have stayed home. Occasionally, however, the thrill of discovery is awakened within my bosom. On this day it was spiced with a feeling of trespass, such as I had not felt since my clandestine trips to the larder in my school days. We Were Not Supposed To Be Here. I was enjoying myself thoroughly, I must say. The rain had gone, the sun was shining, the sky (what we could see of it) was blue, the air was sweet, the birds were singing, my dog was bounding to and fro....all in all it was as pleasant a tramp in the woods as any I have ever taken. I was grateful to the hand that had cleared the way, however, for we could not have gone three steps off of the path without becoming hopelessly entangled.

After a mile or so, our way was blocked by a wall of reddish stone perhaps five or six yards high and of unknown extent. So heavily vegetated was the wall that we could only dimly discern its presence under the mat of vines and leaves. Its origin, whether natural or artificial, was anyone's guess.

"There must be more to it than this," I said. "Nabili would not have come this far just to turn around again."

We commenced pulling at the mat of vines, and soon were rewarded by a faroff glimpse of daylight. The vines concealed a narrow tunnel which went right through the barrier; we were seeing the light at the end, at least ten yards off. I looked at Carbuncle, and he at me, and, shrugging, we pushed our way through the vines. There was much less vegetation in the tunnel, and the regular pattern barely evident on the sides in the dim light put the matter beyond doubt; the wall was man-made, and not of stone but of some kind of rectangular brick. We hurried through, and found ourselves in a square courtyard perhaps one hundred feet on a side, and surrounded on three sides by massive walls like the one through which we had just entered. Whoever had tended the path had not had time or effort to spare to maintain the courtyard as well. The center, though originally paved with stone, was now a green field, with occasional columns and sinkholes. It was also home to a fine community of cottontail rabbits, at which Bruno rejoiced greatly. A worn path continued from where we stood to the far side, which was occupied, as my more astute readers will have guessed, by Philpott's missing temple.

It could not be anything else, out here in the woods by itself. It was a tall building, of the same reddish brick as the walls, though not nearly as overgrown; the walls seemed to have protected it from the worst of the vegetation. The architecture was ponderous, rather than uplifting, staid rather than ornate; one can do only so much with brick. Steps lead up to the facade, which was lined with brick pillars on other side of a wide doorway. The pillars seemed to extend through the roof, creating a matching row of stubby turrets. Through the doorway, which had no door nor any sign of one, we could see daylight. As one we moved forward and into the temple.

It was as simple inside as out...the same utilitarian style, the same lack of ornamentation. It was a big barn of a building, one cavernous, echoing space. The floor was sparsely covered with leaf-litter, due not only to the open portal. The whole northern end of the temple was open. The northern wall was no more than four feet high, and beyond was nothing but sky; the temple was built right up against the cliff. Most dramatically, the center of the room was dominated by a massive statue of a dog, easily ten feet high at the shoulder. The explicitly male figure was standing on all fours, tail raised high over its back, and facing out toward "the world below." It was the same reddish color as the walls and floor, apparently being made out of bricks that had been shaped in some way. The leaf litter had been swept from around it, leaving it at the center of a circle of clean, bare brick. Between its forepaws was a small pile of flowers, leaves, and other vegetable matter.

"Score one for Philpott," I said to Carbuncle. "Looks rather like Bruno, doesn't it. Except for the color. And the size, of course." And indeed it did; the unknown artisan had surely not taken the small Zymurgian dogs we had seen in Tomar as his model. "I wonder why there aren't more dogs like this around now?"

As I pondered, Carbuncle examined the statue. "Leon, come see." When I approached, he said, "Feel this," indicating the leg of the statue. I did so, and was quite surprised. The material was not the red brick I had thought it to be. It felt smooth but not cold, quite unlike any ceramic I had ever felt. There was just the slightest hint of a grain, both to the touch, and, as I looked more closely, to the eye.

"Carbuncle, this feels like some kind of wood," I said. "I've never seen wood with grain so fine." I went and examined the short wall to the north. It was indeed made of the same material: wooden bricks about a foot long, and perhaps four inches wide and three high. I tried to pull one loose, but it held fast. I shook my head. "It doesn't make sense, Carbuncle. Why would they cut a tree into bricks? And why would all of the bricks be exactly the same size and color?"

"It's not that kind of wood, Leon," cried Carbuncle, who was beaming. "This is wood-like, but it's clearly not wood. It was manufactured in some way."

"Manufactured? We haven't seen any signs of that in the village."

"No matter," said Carbuncle. "These bricks were manufactured by some kind of phantasm. They are too smooth and too uniform to have been made in any other way." He took a deep breath, the breath of a man who has been vindicated. "And think of the amount of vegetation out there, Leon. This temple has been here for centuries. Do you see any sign of decay?" Indeed, I could not. "There's a phantasm out there somewhere, Leon," said Carbuncle, "and I mean to find it."

If this were one of those overly thrilling novels which are so popular these days, we would, upon leaving the temple, have found ourselves surrounded by a mob of angry natives, armed with poison-tipped arrows. The chapter would end with me muttering "Keep a stiff upper lip," to Carbuncle and then striding boldly forward to try to bluff my way out. The remainder of the narrative would depend, of course, on whether I succeeded.

As a serious explorer who deplores all such ridiculous narrative contrivances, I am therefore glad to say that there was no angry mob to greet us in the courtyard when we finally left the temple and collected Bruno, nor were we shot at as we walked back down the path. Real life isn't like that, I thought, as we crept through the last maze of bush and shrub to the main road.

And there they were. "Keep a stiff upper lip," I muttered to Carbuncle.