Through Darkest Zymurgia!

The bear did not trouble us with its presence for long. It had smelled breakfast cooking, I suppose, and thought there was a chance for a bite to eat. The cook ignored the compliment, and began to bang a metal spoon against a cast iron pot as loudly as he could. The bear sat down and watched him, scratching one ear with a forepaw. Bruno began to bark, straining at Hodgins' strong hand on his collar. Taking the hint, the rest of us began to shout and wail as loudly as we could, except for Philpott, who merely said "Oh, dear," over and over again. The bear looked around at all of us, sitting up and looking for all the world like a Bundi idol, until it quite suddenly tired of the noise and sloped off into the woods. When it was safely gone, a profound silence settled upon the group; then, by tacit agreement, everyone rose and began to break camp, the more quickly to put our ursine friend some distance behind us.

I didn't move; I remained sitting where I had been when the bear appeared, tin cup in hand, empty bowl at my feet. After all, it hadn't liked my taste the previous night; what cause had I for worry? But I mustn't lie: in truth, I felt vindicated and ill all at once, and was none too sure of keeping my feet if I stood up. I thought it best to remain where I was until the shaking went away.

As soon as his gear was packed, Philpott came over and sat down on the log by my side.

"I say, Leon, I'm terribly sorry."

"So it's you I must thank for my unexpected guest?"

"Yes, Leon." He hung his head.

"And the toad?"

"And the toad."

"And the snake?"

"No, I don't much like snakes. Asha did that one herself."

"Asha?" I looked at him in some surprise. "Were my questions that irritating?"

"Oh, no, Leon," said Philpott, scratching the back of his neck. "No, it had nothing to do with that. It was because of what you told me the other night."

"What I told you? What did I tell you?" Let my readers remember that it was still early in the morning.

"That Asha was in love with me, and that I had given her every reason to think that I reciprocated her affections."

"She isn't?" This was news to me.

"No," said Philpott, "and she never was. I spoke to her about it after we stopped the first night." He proceeded to tell me some of the events of the past weeks; as I have already related them once, I shall pass over them quickly now.

"But why did she put a snake in my bed?"

"To teach you a lesson, she said, to keep you from jumping to conclusions." Philpott gulped as he said this.

"I'll have you know that I never jump to conclusions, Thad, not ever. And I think it is only fair that you tell Asha that Simuny reached the same ones." I smiled to myself as I saw Philpott file that tidbit away. Why should I suffer alone?

"All right," I went on, "so much for the snake. What prompted the toad?"

"Well, we got so little reaction with the snake," he said. I noted carefully his use of the word "we". "Asha said we needed to try again, and insisted that it was my turn. She had one of the men catch the toad, and I put it into your boot. I had to stand the boot up so the toad couldn't get out."

"Tell me, Thad, how many of our company knew about this?"

"By that time?" He thought for a moment. "All but one, I'd say." So everyone had been in on it. Humph, I thought to myself.

"And the bear?" I asked.

"We didn't expect the bear, Leon, I'm terribly sorry about the bear. The toad didn't get any reaction either, so Asha said we needed to try again. Mukden pointed out that squamunks live in this area, and that they love salt." He put his face in his hands for a moment. "I can only surmise that bears love squamunks and salt both."

"Just see to it that it doesn't happen again," I said. In truth, I was pleased rather than otherwise. It meant that I wasn't likely to find anything in my bed that night; it also meant that my concerns for Philpott's future happiness were groundless.

Later that day, as we following the road through the dense woods that cover that part of Zymurgia, Carbuncle brought his donkey next to mine.

"How old would you say these trees are, Leon?"

"I don't know. Centuries, perhaps. More for the largest," I said.

"I would agree. So why are they still here?"

"What do you mean?" I asked my friend.

"We know that Basenis has visited his wrath down upon the country many times in the last hundred years or so, rampaging about, and eating everything in sight. We know that entire towns have been destroyed. Why towns? Why not these stands of trees? He eats tree clippings normally; there are plenty of unclipped clippings here, and and the towns are far and few between."

"The mostly likely explanation is that Basenis sought out the towns on purpose," I said. "Do you suppose that there might be something to the 'Wrath of Basenis' after all?" Carbuncle snorted.

"It must have been attracted by something that exists in the towns, and nowhere else," he replied. "The only alternative is that Basenis was being vindictive, which I can't believe. It's just a phantasm, after all."

"A vindictive phantasm?" I said. "I meet them frequently. What's so odd about that?"

"Now then, Leon, don't be projecting your own shortcomings onto beasties that have never done you any harm." He frowned at me severely.

"No harm, Thomas? What about the time--"

"I know all about it, Leon, and I stick by my statement. You're just clumsy with them, that's all." Without another word, he persuaded his donkey to surge ahead, moving it up several ranks in the procession.

We played whist again that night, as usual. Mukden and Asha were becoming quite good at it, which was causing tempers to fray a trifle; and after several nights of whist it was becoming rather boring. After several desultory rounds, Carbuncle sprang up from his place by Mukden's side.

"Carry on," he said, "I'll be right back." And he jogged off toward the spot where his things were. He reappeared almost immediately, a bag in his hand, and resumed his place. "Game's getting a little dull, it seems to me. Perhaps we can make it a little more interesting."

"It is already interesting," said Asha, in heavily-accented Anglish. I was astounded. I hadn't realized that she was learning it. Philpott leaned over to her and explained quietly that Carbuncle was suggesting a wager of some kind.

"What stakes are you thinking of?" I asked. "We don't have any money."

"Only this," he said. "I've been saving it." And he opened the bag and pulled out, wonder of wonders, a flask of Waterloughs' single malt whisky. Hodgins swore softly to himself, and I felt my eyes brighten just looking at it. Carbuncle set it gently in the middle of the table. "For the winner," he said. "Though he might have to share a wee dram with the rest of us."

"Good heavens, Thomas, how did you manage to save such a thing as that until this late in the trip? I thought all of our Anglish spirits had been drunk long since."

"Oh, I had stashed it with some of my equipment, I don't quite remember why. I ran across it while I was repacking everything I wanted to take South."

Interest in the game revived quickly after that. Hodgins' playing cards were dirty, but the play itself was scintillating; the game seemed to have moved to a whole new level. I won't bore my readers with a trick-by-trick narrative, as such things are insufferably tedious, and in any event I don't like to brag. Suffice it that when the points were counted I was the victor.

Carbuncle picked up the bottle of amber liquid, and studied its label for a moment. Then he handed it to me.

"There you go, Leon."

I caressed it lovingly. I still have that bottle of Waterloughs' that I won with some playing cards from Eton's; it is before me now as I write. I can still remember the crackle of the fire, and the stars shining down on us, and the look on everyone's face as I put the flask, unopened, into my hip pocket and said, "Thank you, Thomas." Oh, it was a blessed moment, watching politeness and outrage waging war in their eyes. When I saw that politeness was beginning to lose, I relented.

"Am I going to find anything unpleasant in my bed tonight?"

"No, Leon," said Philpott, and Asha shook her head.

"Ah. Good. Now, is anything unpleasant going to find me in my bed tonight?"

Philpott and Asha shook their heads.

"Better. Well, would anyone care for a nightcap?" I asked, and there were general nods as I pulled the flask from my pocket. I still have the flask, but in the morning the whisky was no more than a memory.