Through Darkest Zymurgia!

Early in the morning of the 21st of Ragout, bathed in the golden light of a fine orange sun, we set out. We would be proceeding south along the main road towards the capitol, visiting several other towns along the way. So much, I thought to myself, for charting the course of the Aram river; perhaps we would manage it when we came north again. The party included a number of Tomarens, lead by Asha and Mukden, plus the entire expedition team, from Philpott, Carbuncle and myself down to the donkeys and their handlers, Norfolk and Suffolk. It would be a lengthy journey, as Basenis Basor was evidently several hundred miles away. I say "evidently", as none of our guides had ever been there. This distressed me. We were riding into what might be a quite uncomfortable situation, and I wished to hear all I could about Basenis Basor and its inhabitants before we got there. Consequently, I plied our guides with questions.

I asked questions of Asha and Mukden as we rode down the road between fields of grain and stands of trees. I asked questions of the man who prepared the evening meal when we stopped for the night. I asked questions at the campfire in the evening. By the third day, I couldn't think of anything else to ask, which was just as well because none of the Tomarens wanted to talk to me anymore.

The difference between first-hand knowledge and hearsay is the stuff legends are made of. Most of my questions centered on Basenis Basor and its inhabitants, the Keepers. As none of the Tomarens who were with us had actually been there, the information was all second and third-hand, and some of those hands had been dead for decades. I naturally assumed that a certain amount of exageration had crept in, and adjusted my thinking accordingly. I later discovered that the stories I heard on the trail, far from being fanciful or overstated, did not go far enough.

Here is the picture I managed to put together. Basenis Basor was a city of straight avenues and large buildings, all made of the same bricks that had so excited Carbuncle. The Temple of Basenis itself stood in the center of the city, and the avenues radiated out from it in all directions. Was it much like the temple we had seen north of Tomar? No, it was much grander. The avenues were also paved with brick. Little grew there, although there were wells, and cisterns for catching the rain. It stood in the center of Zymurgia, in the center of a barren plain. Perhaps the plain had once been grassy; perhaps there had once been trees in Basenis Basor; but if so Great Basenis had devoured them.

The only inhabitants of Basenis Basor, other than Great Basenis himself, were the Keepers. They were a people wholly dedicated to the service of Great Basenis. The Keepers fed Basenis, and removed the waters and the bricks, though the barrels into which the waters were placed were provided by the towns of Zymurgia as part of the tithe. The Keepers never left Basenis Basor, which they alone had built. The new bricks were used to extend the city, or enlarge existing buildings. The Keepers were wholly dependent on the towns for their food and other necessities. Somewhat to my surprise, they were neither reviled nor molested by the Tomarens. In Angland, where the clergy are largely supported by a tithe on their flock, it is fashionable in some circles to accuse them of being wolves in shepherd's clothing. Here, I suppose, it was clearly necessary that someone have the job of attending to Basenis' monstrous appetite. In any event, the Keepers were almost a race apart. A Keeper might occasionally emigrate to one of the towns, but townspeople never became Keepers; or perhaps they had, once upon a time, but it never happened anymore.

I have referred to Basenis Basor as the "capitol"; perhaps "holy city" would be a better term, for the Keepers in no sense ruled or reigned over the towns. All they required was the quarterly tithe, and enlightened self-interest guaranteed that the towns would continue to provide it. I asked at one point whether the Keepers were not subject to Basenis' wrath just as the townspeople were, and it was explained that they were not. Basenis would not eat his own bricks, and so long as the Keepers stayed inside their brick houses they were safe enough from being devoured--provided they did not starve in the mean-time.

So much for Basenis Basor. We would see what we would see; the present problem was getting there. And with such delightful company, lovely weather, and beautiful countryside, it was hard not to imagine that we were on holiday. The holiday atmosphere was enhanced by the high spirits of--but I get ahead of my tale.

Those of my readers who are inclined to romance will no doubt feel, with some justification, that I have left young Philpott hanging. Several chapters ago I left him sitting at the table in our hostel in the wee hours of the morning with a succession of drinks inside him. He had just discovered that he had been, as it were, trifling with a lady's affection, something no gentleman will ever do. Philpott is so much the gentleman that it had never occurred to him that his voracious desire for knowledge might be miscontrued. It is now time to fill in the details, as best I can. I am indebted to Cadbury for much of what I will now present.

To tell the story properly, I must return to the beginning of the month, and the first day of our investigations. Carbuncle and I had gone out surveying, accompanied by Firenz and Mukden; Philpott and Cadbury had started exploring the town, accompanied by Asha. Up until that day, Philpott had had little hesitation in sharing his observations and conclusions with us. Indeed, he had been almost too forthcoming on some occasions. Yet after his first day with Asha, a veil of silence fell. He claimed he did not wish to discuss his observations until they were complete. This was not entirely unprecedented. He reserved judgement for a couple of days when Mukden and his brothers first arrived in Seros, for example, and so while I was inordinately curious I was not concerned. But as the initial days of silence stretched into one week, and then two, I began to worry. This culminated in my private interview with Simuny, the revelations about Philpott and Asha, and Philpott's night of heavy drinking.

Whatever I may have thought at the time, it is clear that Philpott's reluctance to speak had little to do with the lovely Asha. The very idea of a romantic entanglement had shocked him utterly. No, Philpott had spent the past weeks in a state of genuine puzzlement, a victim of his own expectations. At the beginning of our stay, he had suggested to us that the Zymurgians were theologically either sophisticated or unsophisticated. Their reaction to Bruno and their failure to put us to death had lead him to believe that they were theologically unsophisticated, i.e., superstitious, credulous, and easily deceived by a little smoke and a few mirrors. Consequently, while inquiring into every aspect of life in Tomar, he had primarily been searching for signs of Basenis-worship. The lack of a prominent temple had been a sore blow to him, but he rallied. Perhaps Basenism, for so he thought of it, was a mystery religion, a faith whose liturgies were performed in private, and only open to the initiated. Rather than a temple, perhaps he should be looking for a crypt. It seemed unlikely, given the many references to Basenis which we had already heard, but it could not be ruled out.

The missing temple had been obvious by the end of the first day. Consequently, he had spent the next two weeks combing the town, eyes wide open, asking questions of everyone from Roshnoy the grain balancer down to farmers met by chance in the street. He entered every business, every shop, every home where he could procure a welcome for himself. He never asked openly where and how Basenis was worshipped--if Basenism was a mystery religion, that would likely cut off the flow of information completely. He asked about everything else under the suns. He steered the conversation to spiritual matters as subtly as he could, but to no avail. After two weeks, he had heard nothing and seen nothing to indicate where and how Basenis was worshipped in Tomar.

The difficulty in searching for something hidden is that the only proof of its existence is finding it. If it is difficult to find it, it is still more difficult--indeed, nearly impossible--to conclude that therefore it does not exist. One can only go on looking, or give up in disgust. Young Thaddeus, alas, is not a quitter, or he might have considered alternative hypotheses. He presumed that the Tomarens were theologically unsophisticated, and therefore required a place of worship, and that therefore if he dug deeply enough he would hear of it. He did not consider that they might be unsophisticated but also disaffected; while so common in our present age, disaffection had no part in Philpott's noble (if pedantic) character.

Throughout this period, Asha was ever at his side, guiding him, introducing him, answering his questions, and steering him from place to place. At last, frustrated after weeks of fruitless searching, he judged he had nothing to lose by a frontal assault. Consequently, he asked Asha where and how Basenis was worshipped in Tomar.

As we have seen, this was not a topic Asha was prepared to discuss, and she declined to answer. Philpott pressed her, and she continued to demur. His questions and his intensity persuaded her that perhaps she had been wrong; perhaps we were emissaries of Great Basenis; perhaps Philpott would be angered by the Tomaren lack of devotion. He remonstrated with her, and she, in extremis, picked a quarrel with him. She escorted him frostily back to the hostel and abandoned him there, and that's where I found him after my discussion with Simuny.

If Philpott was a victim of his preconceptions, Simuny and I were no less so. A young man and and a young woman thrown constantly together; the man handsome, virile, exotic; the woman beautiful, intelligent, adventurous; how could love, however ill-advised, fail to blossom between them? If they quarreled, how it could it be other than a lover's tiff? So Simuny and I, in our age and condescension, and yes, in our taste for romance, so Simuny and I had concluded.

We were greatly mistaken, and we each should have known better. Consider Philpott: handsome, yes, virile, yes, exotic (to a Zymurgian), yes; aware of anything beyond his studies, no. Anything and everything is a topic of study to Philpott; he sees the world through glasses of parchment and black ink. And of glass, too, of course. I was speaking metaphorically. Consider Asha, as Simuny should have: beautiful yes, adventurous yes, but above all intelligent and charged with Tomar's welfare; a starry-eyed innocent, no. Her daily task was not only to escort Philpott about and assist with his inquiries, but also to prevent him from learning anything he ought not. She must be constantly on guard, while remaining outwardly charming and helpful. Another woman might have been seduced away from her duty--I say "might", for Philpott would have given no encouragement in the matter--but not Asha. Simuny's suspicions and apprehensions were as absurd as my own.

And yet our conclusions seemed plausible, indeed, plausible enough for Simuny to summon me, and plausible enough even then for me to confront young Thaddeus with them.

I feel rather embarassed about the whole affair, I must say. Had I kept my mouth shut I would have spared myself a considerable quantity of pain.

So matters stood on the morning of the day Carbuncle and I found the abandoned temple. Asha had not come for Philpott that morning, as my readers will recall; she judged the best way of preventing further questions was to maintain a haughty and injured silence. She was indeed fond of him, rather as one might be fond of some strange and exotic animal; hence her pleasure that afternoon and her willingness to send for him. She no longer had any need to avoid him, and so no longer needed to maintain her angry pose. So much for Asha. But what of Philpott?

It had been brought to his attention, so he thought, that he had been trifling with the affections of a young woman. Nothing had been farther from his mind, of course, but once the idea had been raised he could not dismiss it. Had Asha formed some kind of attachment? She had spoken no word of it if so, but then a well-bred lady would not. He considered her behavior, her constant presence, the way she took his arm during the nightly promenades. He considered the way he had pressed her for information, and the way she had responded. He knew he was blind to some things; he looked up to me (more's the pity) as an authority on life in the wide world. He was forced to conclude that his attentions had been misunderstood, and that the young lady had formed a sincere attachment for him.

This was very bad. Philpott is the very model of the Glastonbury don: absent-minded, more fully married to his work than he could be to any woman, doomed to a life of scholarship and increasing eccentricity; rather like Carbuncle and myself in other words. Marriage formed no part of his plans; nor, as a younger son of the Earl of Luton, could he expect to marry just where he pleased if it did. Oh, he would be granted some latitude--but marrying a dusky native of some far off, nearly fabulous land was simply not on, no matter how beautiful, no matter how charming, no matter how much he wanted to.

Did he want to? He didn't think so. In any event, he must break the news to Asha as gently as he could. He hated the very idea, but a gentleman could do no less. This was the primary reason Philpott opposed the journey to Basenis Basor, and maintained that we should leave the country immediately. Having discharged his responsibilities, he wished to be elsewhere as soon as possible.

The days preceding the start of our journey were furiously busy, as I have already indicated, and Philpott had no opportunity for a private conversation with Asha, though they met frequently. The need for secrecy being abolished, her usual buoyant spirits were fully restored, and she never failed to greet him with fondness and delight. What could he think? What could the rest of us think, for that matter? The error of our judgement had by no means yet been brought home to us. It seemed a typical romantic ploy: an angry quarrel followed by sunshine and daisies, all intended to keep the prospective suitor on his toes and off his balance.

So matters stood on the day we left Tomar. So far from leaving Zymurgia and Asha forever, he was was doomed to spend the next several weeks, at a minimum, in daily proximity to her. Never let it be said that young Thaddeus is a coward! He judged, and rightly in my estimation, that he must speak to Asha immediately. Better to disillusion her at once; things would be unpleasant for a day or so, but she would recover; she was no naive, sheltered miss. He was already guilty of misleading her; he did not propose to maintain the charade for one moment longer than necessary.

I have been engaging in a most unconscionable practice during the last paragraphs; I have been pretending to know the thoughts of others, as and when they thought them. Nevertheless, I maintain that the story I have just presented is essentially true; it is based on numerous conversations I had with the principles over the succeeding weeks. It would have been far too tedious to present them in full. I shall now resume a more normal narration of events.

We spent the first day of the journey, as I have previously indicated, riding along the main road through fields of grain and occasional stands of trees. Some appeared wild; others had the look of cultivated windbreaks. I spent the day riding in the company of Mukden and Asha, plying them with questions. Philpott moved about, but was generally one of the group, listening carefully to the questions and answers, and making a note now and then; his poor donkey was quite splattered with ink by the end of the day. He asked few questions himself, and indeed seemed somewhat preoccupied.

As the orange sun was vanishing in the east, we came to a clearing by the side of the road. Mukden informed me that it was one of the regular stops used by the men who conveyed the waters of Basenis north to Tomar. It was a pleasant place to camp, and as we stayed in a similar place each night of our journey I will describe it in some detail. There was abundant dry ground under the spreading trees, so we need not fear the nightly rains; there was a cistern of rain water sufficient for all our needs; there was excellent forage for the animals in the surrounding meadows. There was a large fire ring, around which to gather in the evening, and several smaller fireplaces, suitable for cooking, and a sufficiency of firewood. We used what we needed; each morning, as we were breaking camp, several of the Tomarens gathered more.

As we were making camp that evening, I noticed that Philpott was keeping an eye on Asha. Aha, I thought. Eventually she was alone, seated on a rug outside of her tent. It was in fact our tent; as the only woman in the company, we had thought it necessary to guarantee her privacy, and she had gracefully accepted our generosity. She was working on something; mending a garment that had become torn during the day's journey, perhaps. I am unsure. I was not surprised to see Philpott put down his things, and walk over and greet her. The rug on which she sat was ample for two, or even more, to sit down, and at her gesture he sat down beside her and began to speak earnestly to her. I reflected to myself that it was fortunate that he had taken the time to learn the language, for it would be most inconvenient to pursue his amours through Cadbury--a fine fellow, but perhaps not the ideal go-between. I could not hear what he said (and would not have listened if I could, I assure you), but the look on his face was the very picture of the Young Anglish Gentleman Doing His Duty. I was rather surprised; it seemed an odd way to approach the girl one loved.

I was considerably more surprised by Asha's reaction. She laughed, merrily and with delight; her laughter filled the clearing. Philpott no longer looked dutiful. He looked at her carefully as he spoke to her, and in response she laughed again, and then responded more quietly. He began to look, of all things, relieved! She spoke to him again, and he gestured in my direction; I averted my eyes hurriedly as they both turned to look at me. I therefore did not see it, but Carbuncle, who by now was watching the show avidly, assures me that the gaze she cast upon me was both amused and thoughtful. Philpott and Asha chatted for a few more moments, and then he arose, a smile on his face and a spring in his step, and went about his business.

I trust that the nature of their conversation is as clear to my readers as it was mysterious to me.

That night I found a snake in my bed. It gave me a few bad moments, but on the whole it was an inoffensive snake, a dark brown in color. I carried it gently into the meadow and set it free. Snakes are often attracted to human body warmth on cold nights in the wild, and although it was not particularly chilly I did not find its presence remarkable.