Through Darkest Zymurgia!

Several months after our return to Angland, I joined Carbuncle for afternoon tea in his university lodgings. A yellow sun was vanishing into the west, and a crackling fire exactly complemented the cold beauty of spring outside Carbuncle's windows. It had been a pleasantly relaxing interval, students and lectures to the side. Asha of Tomar was now Mrs. Philpott, after a grand ceremony in Glastonbury Cathedral; the lovers had honeymooned in Angland and then returned to Zymurgia laden down with gifts and household items. They had departed in mid-Jannissary, on the self-same Sea-Spaniel which the Zymurgian Trading Company had purchased from the Earl of Luton. Frederick had gone with them in his capacity as president of the new firm, eager to see the ever-wider dispersal of Basenis' waters begin as soon as possible. I induced Hodgins to leave his sea-going life and become my secretary; his upbringing and his experiences made him perfect for the job. In any event, Hodgins would not have willingly parted with Bruno, and as I had no intention of parting with Bruno myself (he is at my feet as I pen these lines) some compromise was necessary.

And so Carbuncle and I had settled back into our usual routine of lectures, study, and alternately baiting and placating Dean Nuftison, until the spring afternoon of which I write, when our minds were drawn back to Zymurgia by the unexpected arrival of several packing crates. With the porter's aid we pried the lids off and investigated, scattering sawdust on Carbuncle's Bundi rug in the process. The crates proved to contain a note from Frederick Forsythe, and several dozen bottles of Zymurgian beer. The note read as follows:

10 Larch 681
Tomar, Zymurgia

My dear professors Thintwhistle and Carbuncle,

As you will see by the contents of these crates, the waters of Basenis are being dispersed in earnest. These are the very first bottles of Basen Ale to reach Angland; I send them in thanks for your teaching, and for your aid this past summer and fall. The Zymurgian Trading Company would not exist without you.

I had hoped to deliver them in person; as I cannot I will drink your health here with Thaddeus, and hope you will drink ours in due time.

Sincerely,

Frederick Forsythe

Carbuncle called for clean mugs, and soon we were sampling the beer which would, no doubt, sweep the world. It was as good as I remembered. In between sips I studied the label. It featured the words "Basen Ale" over a reasonable line drawing of Great Basenis himself, absent, I noticed, the system of ponds and troughs by means of which the beer was collected. Only to be expected, I supposed.

"Rather decent of young Frederick, don't you think?" said Carbuncle.

"Indeed. Though I still admit to some disapointment. It is unbecoming of me to criticize a man who will likely make me wealthy, but I still think he would have made an excellent mythogeographer."

"Hah!" replied my friend, who had been reading the label on the back of the bottle. "Is there such a field as Applied Mythogeography, Leon?"

"Heavens, no, Thomas, what are you thinking? Mythogeography isn't phantastics, after all, how could you apply it? I mean, well, there's cartography, I suppose, but..."

"Listen, then." And he read the following words from the back of the bottle:

"For over two-thousand years, the people of Zymurgia have devoted their lives to producing the world's best tasting ale. Nothing is allowed to interfere with the brewing process, which uses only the choicest ingredients and rain water. Now they offer it to the people of the Known World. The Zymurgian Trading Company is proud to bring you Basen Ale."

"Oh, dear," I said. "You don't suppose..."

"It does seem calculated to ensure the future supply, you must admit."

I stared into the fire, sipping my beer slowly. "I wonder if it will work," I said. "So far as I know, no one has ever tried to make use of the Law of Consensus. A rather frightening thought, that."

"Yes," said Carbuncle, "but potentially lucrative. And is it really worse than what has been going on in the Bundi Nations for the last hundred years?" I nodded; the Nations were notorious for occasional outbreaks of sectarian and anti-Anglish turmoil. "With a few simple lines, Frederick may have ensured peace in Zymurgia."

I nodded, still pondering. A new thought struck me.

"I say, Thomas, could you explain something to me?" My friend nodded as he took a pull at his mug. "Back in Basenis Basor--your model--why were you so willing to sell it to Frederick? It's not like you, especially as it was nearly ready for activation."

"It was completely ready for activation, Leon, and that's why I sold it." I raised my eyebrows in silent query. "I could never have brought myself to activate the beastie, Leon, that's all."

"Why ever not?"

"I suppose there is no harm in telling; perhaps if you put it in that book you're supposed to be writing, it wil prevent others from wasting their time." I looked out the window, half-expecting the sun to pass behind a cloud, so dolorous were Carbuncle's tones. "Human sacrifice, Leon, that's what it would have taken."

I recoiled so strongly I nearly upset my mug. I stared at it, feeling rather queasy. "So that's why it was designed never to be shut off." Carbuncle nodded.

"That's right. I would guess that even the original phantast found the price to be unpleasantly high. But there's worse, Leon."

"What could be worse? The Keepers haven't been feeding people to Basenis, have they?"

"No, but I rather think Basenis has been feeding himself from time to time. There must be a reason why he ravaged the villages and left the forests alone."

I put my mug down, and wiped my hand on my trouser leg. "Then it wasn't famine that caused Basenis to go prowling?"

Unexpectedly, Carbuncle smiled. "Oh, I rather think it was. I suspect that when Basenis' reserves run low, he needs a little extra life force to keep going. If the Zymurgians keep Basenis as well fed as young Frederick would like, I doubt they will have any trouble. Though I confess, I would not want to be the first fellow into Basenis' den in the morning."

"I wonder what effect this news will have on sales," I said, looking at my mug sadly.

"Cheer up, Leon," Carbuncle said to me. "Once the public have got over drinking idol-urine, I don't think a little human sacrifice will discourage them much." He took another pull at his mug. After a doubtful look at mine, I took another sip. It was delicious.