Through Darkest Zymurgia!

Early the next morning, indeed, shortly after I retired, a banging on my cabin door woke me from a dream in which ghosts were shrieking and howling and harrying me from one end of the Known World to the other. The dream ended; the howling did not, as the steward was quick to point out when I stumbled to the cabin door. That excellent and most unflappable man was on the edge of being seriously flapped.

"It's the dog, Dr. Thintwhistle. He won't stop howling. The ship's kennels are empty except for him, and I suppose he's lonely."

"My goodness! The ship has kennels?"

"Why, of course, doctor. But I fear they are next to the crew's quarters. I'm afraid some of my less well-bred shipmates are in favor of throwing the poor beast overboard. Is there anything you can do?" He looked me in earnest.

I stifled a yawn. "He's Philpott's dog, I suppose. Why don't you run him up to Philpott's cabin, the two of them can bunk together."

The steward's eyes widened. "Oh, but Doctor...I couldn't do that."

"Why ever not? Would you rather ask Philpott to bunk in the kennels?"

"Very good, doctor. Thank you for your help." He set his teeth, adjusted the fit of his coat, and strode off, the picture of dismayed determination. I closed the door, and returned to bed.

The howling ending shortly after, and did not resume, though I believe I did hear, on the edge of sleep, a shriek of surprise.

Some time after dawn I was awakened by the orange light of dawn coming through my porthole. Usually I remember to draw the blinds before retiring, but it had been a long day and a longer evening. I arose and peered out of the port, fully expecting to see long swells and the coast in the far distance. To my surprise, we were still at the dock. I dressed in my shoregoing clothes, to be safe, and went to find Captain Halvorsen.

I found him on the dock at the foot of the gangplank, conferring with a Town Messenger. Communications are as essential to the merchant as to the general, and the Lyricum Town messenger service was as good as that in Pelham. The messenger, instantly recognizable in black cape and scarlet tights, bowed slightly and withdrew a few steps as I approached.

"Ah, Dr. Thintwhistle. One of my men didn't return last night; it appears he was arrested for brawling. Shall we retrieve the sorry fellow now, or on our return trip?"

I judged from our presence at the dock that it had better be now, and I so indicated. "Which man is it, Captain?"

"Hodgins," he said, "one of our deckhands."

"Tall?" I asked, "Sandy hair? Broken nose?"

"Yes, that's Hodgins." The captain turned back to the messenger. "Return to the Hall of Merchants and tell the magistrate that I'll be along shortly." The messenger bowed and ran off at speed.

"If it would not inconvenience you, Captain, I believe I would like to accompany you." I had some inkling of what had happened, and it promised to be amusing. Accordingly the Captain hailed a caleza, and we spun off along the Dolce Vita to the Promenade. The Dolce Vita perhaps deserves a better description than I have given it so far.

The Dolce Vita is Lyricum Town in miniature. Perhaps one-hundred yards in width, lined with palm trees on both side, it runs through every part of the city, from warehouses near the harbor, through the tenements of the poorer districts and palazzos and villas of the wealthier, to the civic center around the Promenade. Travelling north from the Promenade, which we did not do on this visit, is like taking the same trip in reverse, with the cattle yards substituting for the harbor and the open country and farmland substituting for the Bay of Biscotti. And indeed, the same road, built originally by the conquerors of the Known World for their legions, runs on in a straight line through fields, villages, and lesser towns to the village of Paloma, drowsing amid its ruins and its dreams of past grandeur. As one drives down it one sees all of the inhabitants of Lyricum Town, the beggars in their rags, the fisherman, the merchants in their gaudy robes and gaudier coaches, the pretty girls in their gowns. It is a daily carnival, a pageant of color and comedy, of the graceful and the grotesque. Yet today there was a hush over the boulevard, a sullen refusal to smile or to meet our eyes as we spun past.

An orange sun was high in the sky when we reached the Hall of Merchants. This surprisingly modern building (the previous hall had been destroyed by fire in 662) is the seat of Lyrican government, and includes in its vast bulk the law courts and the jails. We gave our names to the receptionist in the marble-paved lobby, and were soon met by the magistrate himself, Luigi Marconi. The might of Angland is a great help in foreign countries; I rather doubt a Lyrican captain would have received the same courtesy.

"Captain Halvorsen, Dr. Thintwhistle," said that worthy as he conducted us down the wide stone stairs to the cells, "You are both well known here in Lyricum Town, as in all the Known World. The Council of Merchants has no wish to make trouble for your expedition. But I am bound by my position and by my responsibility to the people of Lyricum Town to say that this is a serious matter, a very serious matter."

"A serious matter?" I asked. "I thought it was a simple tavern brawl. Hodgins is a sailor, after all, I'd have thought brawling was commonplace. Or have I missed something."

Marconi drew himself to his full height, which left him still some inches below sea-level. "Dr. Thintwhistle, as a known lover of the arts I had thought you might understand. Insulting the great Rotini, especially at the beginning of the Summer Festival--it is nearly unforgiveable."

I raised my eyebrows at this. "Insulted Rotini did he? Yet I saw him at the Grand Opera House last night." Now Captain Halvorsen raised his own eyebrows.

"As you say, Dr. Thintwhistle, the man has no excuse," said Marconi. "We will release him as a sign of our friendship with Angland, but he must return directly to your vessel, and must not leave it before your departure. Should the crowds discover who he is, there may be a riot. We should not wish to rebuild the Hall of Merchants so soon."

As we reached Hodgin's cell, Marconi gestured to the attending guard, who unlocked the door. Before Captain Halvorsen could speak, I caught his arm. "Allow me, Captain, if you will." He nodded his agreement.

"Come out, Hodgins, come out." The sailor rose from the bunk, and walked gingerly out of the cell. His neat shore-going togs were torn and bloody; I could smell beer and other less pleasant substances.

"You know who I am, Hodgins?" I asked.

"Yes, sir, you're Dr. Thintwhistle." Hodgins spoke with effort and a scowl.

"They tell me you insulted the Great Rotini, Hodgins. I saw you at the opera last night; what happened?"

"I stopped at a tavern near the wharf, sir. Chianti is a long piece, as you know, sir, and I couldn't afford the prices at the opera house. It took most of my savings just to get in the door."

"I see, Hodgins; then what."

"Well, sir, the tavern was filled with Lyrican sailors. I speak Lyrican fluently, sir, having been taught by my father, and I was quite surprised to find that they were all discussing the opera."

"Yes, they take opera quite seriously in Lyricum; I'm surprised your father didn't teach you that, too....wait a moment, a moment," I said. "Your father--not Theophilus Hodgins?"

Hodgins' shoulders slumped. "Yes, sir."

"What in the name of Prudentius is the son of the Regius Professor of Classics of Glastonbury University doing working as a common deckhand?"

"I ran away from home, sir. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I had no heart for the Classics, sir. I had to follow my own muse, and the call of the sea was stronger, sir." He looked sheepish at being found out.

"Ah. Well, Hodgins, what happened in the tavern?"

"I thought I'd join the conversation, as the Lyrican sailors seemed friendly enough. At first they were glad to hear from me; apparently Anglish sailors with a taste for opera are as much of a rarity to them as they are to me. They bought me drinks, and hung on my every word."

"And then what?"

"I'm not sure, sir. I must have said something wrong, because one man dashed the glass of Salieri from my hand, and another pulled my chair out from under me. After that, it got rather confused." He rubbed at a lump on his head, and winced.

"Think, Hodgins. What did you say?"

"I think, sir, I think I had just mentioned another opera I had seen on a previous visit. The Valpolicella, it was, by Fusilli. I liked Chianti well enough, sir, but I thought that the Valpolicella was better.

"You see?" exclaimed Marconi, who had been listening intently. "He says it again! He is convicted out of his own mouth!"

"Hodgins," I began gently, "you walked into a dockside tavern in Lyricum Town, and said that Fusilli was better than Rotini? During the Summer Festival?"

"No, I didn't, sir, I said that the Valpolicella was better than the Chianti."

I waved the objection away. "It matters not. Just as it matters not that Fusilli, clearly a second-rate composer, was at the height of his powers when he wrote Valpolicella. Just as it matters not that the Great Rotini, composer of the most sublime operas in the Known world, was but an untried youth when he wrote Chianti." Marconi shifted uneasily at this. "Even at his height, Fusilli could never match the excesses of the young Rotini. How you can possibly compare the utter absurdity of Fusilli's plot with the fractured reality of Rotini's, or the lack of resolve in Fusilli's use of many different compositional structures with Rotini's determined focus on the arpeggio and glissando is beyond me." Marconi looked happier for a moment, and then puzzled, as did Hodgins. "The fact remains that you spoke ill of Rotini in his home city, at the beginning of the festival held in his honor, and of the opera which begins his majestic Rigatoni Cycle. Believe me, Hodgins, you're luck to be alive, and your shipmates are lucky that the brawl didn't spread to the docks."

At this, Hodgins hung his head, but he scowled at me from under his lowered brows.

"I must take a serious view of this, Hodgins. You've endangered the entire expedition with your frivolous ways. You shall be severely disciplined. With your captain's permission, I shall see to it myself."

Captain Halvorsen bowed. He had a puzzled look as well, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

"Starting tomorrow, Hodgins, you'll no longer be able to spend your days frivolously sunning yourself on the deck and singing with your crewmates. I want you to report to me personally, promptly after breakfast. Um, that would be my breakfast, not yours. Say nine o'clock. I'll have you doing such work that you'll wish you were back in Glastonbury." I turned to the rotund little magistrate. "Does this meet with your approval, Signor Marconi?"

"As you know, Dr. Thintwhistle, Lyricum Town is not in a position to demand any action at all," he said, smiling. "I am glad that I had not underestimated you. You are a man of great understanding and culture." He gestured for us to return the way we had come. "I will have a coach meet you at the rear entrance to the Hall. Get this man into the coach quickly, and do not let him be seen. I rely on your discretion." We thanked him sincerely, and took our leave.

"By your leave, sir," said Hodgins as we rode back to the Spaniel, "thank you for clearing things up with the magistrate."

"You are quite welcome, Hodgins," I replied.

"Were you serious, sir? Shall I really report to you in the morning?" He looked from me to the captain, and back again. The captain himself looked at me quizzically.

"Indeed you shall, Hodgins. I brought no secretary with me on this trip, and frankly, any sailor who knows the names of Fusilli and Rotini, let alone one who can see the inferiority of the Chianti, is utterly wasted as a deck hand." I smiled at the look of dismay on the sailor's face.

"Don't worry, lad," I said. "It won't be much worse than learning Lyrican under your father's tutelage. You'll see." Hodgins settled back with a nearly inaudible groan, winced, and settled in a more comfortable position. The captain chuckled.

"I like your way of doing things, Dr. Thintwhistle. I had tried every means I could think of to get him off of the deck and into a position of responsibilty, but I had never considered bailing him out of jail. I wish you luck of your prize!"

"And my thanks for your support, Captain," I said. In truth, I was well-pleased at the morning's work despite the delay, and was in high good spirits when we reached the Spaniel at last. The small crowd gathered at the Spaniel's dockside parted before the coach-and-four, and we were able to step directly from the compartment to the gangplank. We made it aboard without altercation, and in minutes were out in the Bay of Biscotti, heading for open sea.