Through Darkest Zymurgia!

"Well, this is a fine kennel of fish," I said as we entered the hostel.

"Kettle," said Philpott, ever vigilant.

"Kettle?" asked Cadbury, who hadn't heard the expression before.

"Kettle?" asked Carbuncle, who hadn't been paying close attention.

"Of fish," said Hodgins, helpfully.

"Of fish?" asked Cadbury.

"Oh, of fish." said Carbuncle.

Fox said nothing.

"Kennel of fish I said, and kennel of fish I meant," I said as we sat down around the refectory table.

"Kennel?" asked Cadbury.

"It's a place you keep dogs," said Hodgins, helpfully.

"Dogs and fish?" asked Cadbury.

"It's a figure of speech," said Hodgins. "It means being in a pickle."

"In a pickle?" asked Cadbury.

"It means we are in trouble, Cadbury," said Carbuncle.

"Oh," said Cadbury. "What kind of trouble?"

"Political trouble," said Carbuncle.

Fox said nothing.

"Are we going to help them?" asked Philpott.

"That's the trouble," I said. "We can't."

"Why not?" asked Hodgins. "The folks here are good people. Why can't we help them?"

"To begin with, their request is based on a false premise. They assume that Great Basenis has no power over us, given that he hasn't struck us down, and that we might have power over Great Basenis, given our power over Bruno, here."

Bruno woofed.

"Perhaps we do," said Cadbury.

"Not likely," said Carbuncle. "If Basenis were a genuine deity, which as a member of the established church I cannot admit, it might perhaps be true. It is much more likely, though, that the beastie is some kind of phantasm."

"A phantasm!" cried Philpott. "Do you really think so?"

"I do. At the temple--"

"Yes, yes, the temple, Thomas, tell me about the temple!"

There was nothing for it but to describe our excursion to the temple in detail for Philpott, Fox, and Cadbury, and we did so. I will not repeat it here.

"And so," continued Carbuncle, "I knew that the bricks were produced by a phantasm. Today, Firenz told us of a wrathful idol that is fed 'clippings', and produces, as it were, beer and bricks. The implication was quite clear: the beer and bricks are not produced in the capital near Basenis' temple; they are produced by Basenis himself."

"I begin to see why the folks here don't drink the brew themselves," said Hodgins. Well, he's a sailor, isn't he?

"Be that as it may," said Carbuncle. "What we've got so far is a sophisticated industrial phantasm, made in the shape of a giant dog, which is capable of converting plant clippings into a valuable beverage and building material. Perhaps the form of the phantasm is rather unpalatable, but that's a detail."

Fox was paying close attention, I noted, though he remained silent.

"What about Basenis' wrath when hungry?" I asked. Carbuncle shrugged.

"We have many phantasms which require some kind of fuel or fodder; the phantail on the Sea Spaniel, for example. One could conceivably design one that foraged for itself when necessary, but it would be complicated, and of little value. We'd really rather the Spaniel didn't take off on its own when it got hungry. Apparently Basenis' creator thought it was worth the effort."

"Why would one do that?" asked Fox.

"Perhaps the processes embodied in the phantasm are easy to sustain but difficult to start. If the Spaniel's phantail runs out of fodder, it simply stops working. Give it more fodder, and it starts again. Basenis might be different. I'd guess Basenis' creator wanted to ensure that his creation would never run out of fuel."

"So when Basenis terrorizes the countryside, it's not the diety carefully chastising the unfaithful, it's just a phantasm consuming fodder without discrimination?" I asked.

"Precisely. And that's why we can't help the Tomarens, Hodgins. Basenis is clearly carefully designed not to go hungry, and it might be impossible to defeat that design. And further, if we did succeed we might never be able to find out how it works."

Fox raised his eyebrows.

"An excellent analysis, Thomas, but that's not why we can't help the Tomarens," I said.

"It's not?" asked Hodgins.

"It's not?" asked Carbuncle.

"It's not?" asked Philpott.

Fox said nothing.

"No. The reason we can't help the Tomarens is that we are representatives of His Majesty's Government."

"We are?" asked Philpott, and "You are?" asked Fox, more or less simultaneously.

"We are," I said.

"We are, indeed," said Carbuncle. "I had forgotten."

"Do you remember, Thaddeus, before we left Pelham, that we received a warrant from the crown, authorizing the expedition?"

"Why, no, I don't."

"We did. It's standard procedure for expeditions carried out under the auspices of the Royal Mythogeographic Society."

"What are the implications of having this warrant, Leon?"

"It says that we (that is, you, Thomas, and I), are conducting the expedition at the King's command, and are therefore not to be trifled with. It's one reason we got such good service at the naval yard on Cuprios."

Fox turned pale.

"You mean," he said, "that my errand was futile from the beginning. Had I caught you with a valid writ, you'd have waved the warrant in my face and sent me on my way."

"Alas, hardly that," I said. "The Sea-Spaniel is legally just a hired merchant vessel, and therefore not protected by the warrant. Furthermore, it belongs to the Earl of Luton, and thus was hired essentially for free. We've no funds to hire a replacement, and so its seizure would have been catastrophic.

"But that's beside the point. The point is, courtesy of that warrant, we represent His Majesty here in Zymurgia. There was a time when the king encouraged political adventuring by people in our position; the Bundi Nations were built that way, for example. But those days are past. The King's government would have harsh words for us, and perhaps yet harsher deeds, if we were to foment rebellion here in Zymurgia."

"Rebellion?" cried Philpott. "What are you speaking of, Leon?"

"You're the ethnomonotonist, Philpott, as you have occasionally reminded me. The Zymurgians evidently have a two-tiered society, with these 'Keepers' at the top and the people of the towns at the bottom. What place will there be for the Keepers if the townsfolk succeed in killing Basenis? It looks like rebellion to me, and we can't have any part in it."

"On the other hand, Leon, we must get a good look at that phantasm," said Carbuncle. I noticed Fox nod slightly at this, though I am not sure he was aware that he did it. "I don't think the Tomarens will let us travel south if we don't go along with their plans."

"I suppose we must pretend to go along, and see what happens," I said.

"What, you mean deceive them?" asked Philpott. "I am shocked and distressed that you would suggest such a thing, Leon. They are our hosts. Deceit should have no place in our dealings with them."

"As it has had no place in their dealings with us, Thad? But we needn't lie. We can tell them honestly that we have no idea how to solve their problem, but that we are willing to go have a look," I said. "If after having a look we have no advice to offer, we can hardly be blamed for that."

The argument continued for some time after that, Carbuncle maintaining that we must travel to Basenis Basor and see the phantasm in its temple, and Philpott maintaining that as Anglish gentlemen we must avoid deceit in all its forms, and would do better to decline to help the Tomarens and leave their country at once. They hadn't resolved their differences when the rest of us retired for the evening, but it didn't matter. South we would go.

The next few days were furiously busy, and not just with preparations for the journey. Nabili, we discovered, had lost his position; that had been the meaning of the brief drama we had witnessed in the Hall of the Masters. Denial of Basenis was considered unwise, but overt worship was utterly forbidden, as was visiting the old temple. For a master of the town to do so was to be a traitor to the people under his care. So, as we saw, Nabili was publicly rebuked and stripped of his office, and left the Hall of the Masters in a bit of a huff. Nabili's seat traditionally went to a Vastid, so we had been told, and so we were surprised when Mukden was installed in Nabili's place the next day. He was chosen in part, I think because he was our friend and the other masters hoped to secure our good will, but more because he had proven himself both capable and discreet. Not even Roshnoy the grain balancer, Nabili's relative, seriously disapproved. It was explained to me later that Mukden would certainly have taken his uncle's seat when Firenz could no longer carry out his duties; when Firenz stepped down, another Vastid would be brought in.

The installation of a new Master was of course an important occasion, and that necessitated another festival, which necessitated another day of rest. We enjoyed Mukden's feast rather more than the previous one as we were allowed to take part. I am certain that I did none of the things that Carbuncle has since claimed that I did. As I am endeavouring to write only the truth, I shall not discuss the matter further. It is sufficient to say that our preparations were made in due course, if perhaps more slowly than would be usual.